


Nature and Nurture Two: Ties that Bind

by WaideING



Series: Nature and Nurture [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bestiality, Betrayal, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Creature Stiles Stilinski, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Elemental Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae Magic, Fae Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mental Health Issues, Nemeton, Nogitsune Effects, Non-Consensual Touching, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scott is a Good Friend, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stilinski Family Feels, Sweet Derek, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Understanding Derek, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Violence, Wolfed Out Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 277,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaideING/pseuds/WaideING
Summary: Set four months after Nature and Nurture One: Finding the Perfect Blend.Stiles and Derek are pair-bonded and together, but Stiles has never felt more alone. An inexhaustible anger has taken root inside, opening his eyes to the faults of those around him. So Stiles had decided: if anyone else tells him he's sick, he's going to do something drastic. Besides, he has more important things to worry about than his so-called 'attitude problem' - he still hasn't healed the Nemeton and as the fae protector that's kind of his main reason for being. He'd also like to figure out why Derek seems so hell-bent on pushing him away.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Nature and Nurture [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658773
Comments: 107
Kudos: 118





	1. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein weather portents are ignored.

The storm had been going for the past two days and showed no signs of letting up. 

Rain that was more sleet than anything else was being blown around the Nemeton grove by a wind that whipped the tree branches against each other. Snow on the mountains was keeping everything frost-bite cold and bleak. There was a howling in the air that set Stiles’ teeth on edge.

Sitting on the Nemeton stump, he curled his fingers around the toes of one foot, absently checking how they were. A small part of him still expected his body to react as it would have when he was human, but the slicing sting of the cold was exhilarating more than anything else. Being fae had it perks.

Placing both hands on the stump, Stiles breathed slowly, closing his eyes. The wood beneath his palms came into sharp focus and the howling wind died away. The connection Stiles had to the Tree sprung up in welcome to his probing, the magic weaving threads through his consciousness before pulling him down deep. He travelled along twisting roots, noticing areas of new growth. By any normal standard the Tree was growing at an astronomical rate. Stiles should be pleased. And he was, to an extent. But it wasn’t enough.

The aerial roots of the Tree, those growing above the ground and in the open air of the cellar, had always been pretty strong but the ones in the soil had shrunk after the Tree had been felled. Not even a magical tree could survive indefinitely without a wide-spread foundation. New root growth was a good and important thing but Stiles wanted to see something growing above ground. Was it too much to ask for a leaf or a shoot? He’d miscalculated with the sacrifice of Gavin Brine. Thinking he’d healed the Tree completely had been stupid and he was only now learning how much energy would actually be required. One soul was not enough.

Feeling despondent, Stiles pulled his consciousness back to his body. 

The sleet had tapered off and rain had taken its place while he’d been within the Tree. The wind still rushed around the grove though, burrowing into his ears and annoying him with its howl. It wasn’t a wolf’s cry, no matter how much he might wish it to be, and the constant noise was just a reminder that made his stomach loop and fall like he was on the world’s most ill-inducing ride. 

Stiles pressed his fingers into the middle of his ribs, trying to physically squash the unease out of himself before reaching up to thumb at the claim scar residing under the neck of his t-shirt. Before bonding with Derek and being claimed, Stiles wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel so despondent about such an amazing thing. But after the fact, he’d been shown how wrong he could be. 

It started with a phone call, one tiny insignificant phone call. Then there had been two, then three, Derek hanging up mid-sentence as soon as Stiles was within hearing range. By the fourth call, and who knew how many he hadn’t interrupted, there was no option but to believe Derek was keeping something from him.

Blame it on the weather, blame it on Stiles being a hypocritical asshole, but it hurt that Derek had secrets he wasn’t sharing.

Perhaps if it had stopped at the phone calls, he would have let it go. But then came the times Derek wasn’t contactable and Stiles had no idea where he was. Stiles kind of thought part of being married, even if it was supernaturally and there hadn’t been an exchange of rings, meant being somewhat aware of where Derek was at least most of the day. 

Was he wrong about that? 

He wasn’t trying to keep tabs on Derek’s every movement but when calls went unanswered and the cabin was empty more often than not, the empty spot in his stomach burned. It was only the presence of Derek in the back of his mind, curtesy of their claiming, that let him know his wolf was alive and okay. It was something at least, but things were definitely not how Stiles wanted them to be.

He dropped both legs over the side of the Nemeton, sighing. He should probably go home, as much as he didn’t want to.

***

Someone was talking to his dad in the kitchen when Stiles walked in the door. The voice was annoying familiar and Stiles edged quietly down the hallway, hoping he could hide in his room until their ‘guest’ had left. Unfortunately, not seconds after he’d sat down on the bed, his dad poked his head around the doorframe and eyed him up and down. 

“Stiles, what the hell? Get out of those clothes before you get ill. What possessed you to go out in a storm?!”

Stiles looked down at himself and disinterestedly watched the puddle on his bed grow bigger. He wouldn’t get sick ever again, not from anything as commonplace as a human cold or the flu. Sniffles were a thing of the past. He’d had this talk more than once since Winter started and he was tired of repeating it.

His dad flushed as understanding dawned. “Just stop soaking the sheets, okay? Even if you’re the one who’s going to have to change them, have a bit of sense.”

Stiles stood up, the water on his clothes dripping down onto the rug. He silently dared his dad to say something about it.

His dad eyed him. “Cue is here. He’s staying for lunch.” 

Stiles’ lip curled in distaste. “Again?” 

The skin around his dad’s eyes tightened in warning. “Yeah, again. Funny thing about this being my house, I can have people over whenever I want. Get cleaned up and then get your ass to the kitchen. We’ll deal with your attitude after Cue leaves, so don’t even think of going anywhere.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, immediately thinking of going back to the Nemeton or perhaps the aspen forest.

Not even waiting to see if Stiles agreed to hanging around, his dad walked back down the hallway.

Stiles hissed when his dad was out of earshot, clenching his fists as a very real urge to hit something bloomed within him. The noise he made was an entirely fae-sounding one, a mix of cat and snake and something else entirely which could only be supernatural. He always got strange and remanding looks for it, quite unlike when the werewolves in his life growled out their annoyance. No one looked twice at them.

The double standard made Stiles’ anger grow and when he imagined the scene that was occurring in the kitchen the anger travelled over him in a wave, leaving him feeling flushed and grinding his teeth as he struggled to hold onto his glamor and remain looking human. 

Cue Robertson, the boy who’d eventually helped Stiles get revenge on Brine, was spending entirely too much time hanging around. At first it was because he needed to check in at the police station for his community service. Then it was an offer of food because Stiles’ dad felt bad for him. Then one meal turned into two and now it was so common-place there was a risk of it becoming a daily affair which put Stiles in a position he didn’t want to be in. 

Cue was holding on to some very sensitive information. So far he’d been silent about the whole Stiles-meeting-Brine-and-going-off-in-his-car-with-him thing, but at some point the kid would talk. He was a boy with a huge mouth and a propensity for using it.

Not having a lot of options open to him right then if he wanted to stop Cue saying something he shouldn’t, Stiles shoved the bedroom door closed with a foot before pulling his t-shirt off and sliding his jeans down over his hips.

***

His dad had his back turned and was making lunch at the counter when Stiles entered the kitchen. Using the opportunity, he flopped down at the kitchen table and eyed Cue with open hostility. 

Cue quailed and shrank into his jacket, his fear so strong Stiles rubbed his tongue against his teeth in darkly amused satisfaction as his fox ability soaked it up. He’d become proficient in taking emotions the last few weeks and practiced on Cue constantly. It was the one perk while dealing with his dad’s need to help the hopeless.

When his dad moved from the counter to join them at the table, Stiles stopped his silent harassment and instead stared blankly at the sandwich and drink placed in front of him. A small crooked smile was all he could offer in thanks for something he didn’t want, but he wasn’t entirely sure he sold it. 

As his dad’s eyes flicked up to his hair which was still wet, Stiles steeled himself. He’d chosen not to dry his hair as a deliberate nose-thumbing to being ordered around like he was still a child and felt spitefully vindicated as his dad let out a noise of exasperation.

Before the verbal sparing could begin, Cue interrupted by slurping down his drink like he’d just run a marathon. He’d already inhaled almost half of his sandwich and got stuck into the rest of it. 

In his more affable moments, Stiles didn’t mind Cue much. He was an alright kid, crude but funny, pretentious but also very lonely. He could even be pitied if Cue was the kind of person who invited pity and didn’t make Stiles want to smack him upside the head more often than not.

“So, Cue, how’s things at the store?” his dad asked, referring to the community service Cue was fumbling through in an effort not to be chucked in juvie. How Stiles wished the judge hadn’t given a choice.

Cue lifted his head and stared at Stiles’ dad, thinking of an answer. His job hadn’t changed from when Stiles had waylaid him in the Beacon South Store parking lot and Stiles bet he checked every time he finished a shift to make sure it wasn’t going to happen again.

Unable to let such an opportunity pass by, Stiles taunted, “It seems quiet the times I’ve been there. Never have any trouble getting a park.” As the pulse jumped in Cue’s neck, Stiles hid a smile. Baiting the boy in front of his dad was dangerous but also fun and he wanted a little more of that in his life right then.

Cue put the last of his sandwich down, one hand lying over it as if to protect it from the hoards that would try to steal it away. “It’s good, Sir,” he finally answered, cutting his eyes to Stiles then quickly away, nerves fighting with the need to prove himself. His emotions tasted like spiky ice shards melting on Stiles’ tongue; a snow cone of fear and stubbornness.

“No one giving you any trouble?”

“No.” Cue sent another glance Stiles’ way. “No trouble.”

“Good to hear it,” Stiles’ dad said. “And I’ll say it again, call me Noah.”

Cue’s eyes widened and Stiles snorted quietly. His dad wanted Cue to feel comfortable but the boy was too hero-struck to call him anything other than ‘Sir’.

“Um, okay,” Cue agreed. 

Stiles smirked, knowing it would never happen. Cue dared to glare back and Stiles’ smirk turned a little more pointed, his eyes hard. 

Cue looked away again, his fear stronger than before. 

Stiles’ amusement grew. 

“How’s the place you’re staying at now?” Stiles’ dad continued, flicking a glance over at Stiles. “You were lucky your previous living arrangements didn’t cause issues with your community service provisions. We caught that just in time.”

Cue flushed, probably because Stiles’ dad was being so open about his not having a guardian. Stiles couldn’t care less about it but drank up the reaction, the hard shards of hurt and want coming from Cue at the mention of his home life was like icing on a particularly tasty cake. 

“It’s okay, Sir,” Cue answered, ignoring the full-blown grin Stiles gave. “The carers don’t ask too many questions.”

“The home had a good record with teens when I looked into it,” Stiles’ dad commented. “I’m glad it’s working out for you. Let me know if things change though, alright?”

“Sure.” Cue nodded.

Stiles’ dad seemed happy then and took a huge bite of his lunch, humming appreciatively and side-eyeing Stiles, silently daring him to say anything about the pre-fried bacon lying between the pieces of bread. 

Stiles disapproved but he refrained from commenting, merely rolling his eyes. Being less strict about his dad’s diet had been an ongoing tug-of-war he no longer cared to get into. His dad’s arteries could fight their own battles. 

Continuing to eat his lunch with gusto, Stiles’ dad made small talk with Cue, while Stiles stared out the kitchen window, trying not to wonder what Derek was doing. He kind of zoned out, only listening enough to make sure Cue wasn’t about to say anything incriminating, so it came as a bit of a shock when his dad suddenly stood up and announced, “I’m off for a bit.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked, wondering about the ‘talk’ they were yet to have. “Did you get called in?” He looked back out the kitchen window at the storm. It had let up slightly but would still be difficult to drive in. As annoyed as he was with his dad, he wanted him safe.

“No. I’m picking up stuff for dinner,” his dad clarified. 

Stiles’ eyebrow rose at the poor try at dissembling. They had plenty of food in the house and both of them knew it.

Cue pushed his chair back, standing up. “I’ll come with you, I guess.”

“Nope,” Stiles’ dad disagreed. “You’re staying here.”

Cue gaped at him then across at Stiles, who hid his annoyance and gave a cheeky smile like it was the best news. Cue went distinctly pale. “I can walk home, Sir.”

“Not in this weather,” Stiles’ dad disagreed. “The way I see it is this.” He pointed a finger first at Stiles then at Cue. “You’ve got issues with each other which I don’t want to know about. I just want them sorted. I get the feeling that won’t ever happen if I’m around so I’m making myself scarce. I expect the two of you to sit, finish your lunch and work things out. If I come back and it’s obvious you haven’t made inroads, I will be less polite and more strict. Trust me when I say, you don’t want that. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” Cue deflated and sat back down.

“Stiles?”

“Mmm,” Stiles answered noncommittally, having just taken a big slurp of his smoothie.

His dad waited, eyebrows raised, jaw set.

The silence between them stretched as Stiles weighed the benefits of fighting his dad on this. There was a chance his dad would decide to ask Cue what was going on, which Stiles couldn’t risk, so with a dramatic sigh he put down his drink and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! I’ll talk to him.” 

His dad smiled. “Good. I’ll be back.” He picked up his keys, patted Stiles on the shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.

After his dad left the house, Stiles directed his ire at Cue. “He picked the worst day to bring this up, just so you know. I’m not feeling like being nice to strays.”

“Well, fuck this, man, I’m not waiting for you to bite me or whatever.” Cue scrambled up from the table.

Stiles reeled in Cue’s emotions even harder than he normally did, catching the ever-present fear but also stress and anger, all rolled into a lovely package of teen-angst. The mix made him almost dizzy with the perfectly sweet pain-filled taste and he couldn’t help it; he laughed. It sounded hollow and off-putting even to his own ears. 

Cue froze at the noise, swallowing audibly. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stiles pulled a face, swallowing the need to keep heckling the boy. As much as it rankled being told what to do yet again, he wanted to be able to say he tried talking with Cue. It was that, or deal with his dad’s bull-headedness which would make things even more tiresome. “Sit down. You know he’ll just make good on his promise if he sees you’ve taken off.” 

When Cue remained standing, Stiles mocked him. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Sheriff, would you?”

Cue still didn’t move, and Stiles felt his anger rise once more. “Sit. Before I make you.”

Cue sat down fast, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “I don’t get it,” he said through a wave of nerves. “Your dad’s always telling me how proud of you he is, how you’re this great guy, but I don’t see it. You threaten to hurt me all the time. I know you’re completely mental. Anyone who does the things you do has to be certifiable. I’m also pretty sure you killed Brine, so that makes you a murderer as well.”

Stiles stilled when Gavin Brine was mentioned. The whole situation with Brine was not one he liked to think about, ever. He itched to slide off his glamour and scare the crap out of Cue, but held back. The way the boy was feeling right then, it would be Stiles’ luck he’d have a heart attack.

“Did you? Did you kill him?”

Stiles was surprised Cue had the guts to ask outright. But then again, this was the kid who’d actively tried to get revenge for his dad’s death. He’d been considerably stupid in how he went about it and got himself roped up with the likes of Brine, but it had been a proactive move that many in his position wouldn’t have undertaken.

“No,” Stiles answered.

Cue leant back, frowning. “I thought for sure … but then, where’d he go? He hasn’t come after me. He’d kill me if he could, I know it.”

“Is it really that big a deal? Why can’t you just be happy he’s gone?”

“I am happy about it! But I keep having to look over my shoulder all the time, don’t I?” Cue blew out a frustrated breath. “If you did do it, I can’t say I’m surprised, and I guessed I helped you so I can’t really say anything. Not if I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Stiles reiterated.

“Yeah, so you say, but you did something. Hasn’t anyone wondered where he’s gone?”

That was a question Stiles would prefer not to answer. Yes, the pack and his dad had questioned Brine’s sudden disappearance but it had been easy to get them to stop worrying about it. Whenever someone brought it up, Stiles subtly steered the conversation to different subjects. The fact was, if the danger wasn’t staring them right in the face, the pack were happy to let things go. It helped that Scott and Lydia had been starting their higher education and their attention was focussed more on that than some crazy whack-job who’d left Beacon Hills. If they’d been less busy with their own lives they’d have remembered evil never just goes away.

“Perhaps he decided to leave.” Even as he said it, Stiles knew Cue wouldn’t believe it. 

Cue snorted. “I saw you get in his car, you asshat. What happened after that?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” 

“That’s bullshit. Something happened.” Cue narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope.” 

“Then what’s stopping me from telling your dad about it?”

There it was. Stiles had known at some point Cue would put it out there, even if he thought he’d get in trouble for his part in things.

Stiles leant forward, placing both hands on the table and letting his eyes slowly start to shine their supernatural mercury gray. “Do you really want to tell him? Considering all the facts?” 

Cue’s eyes rose to his hairline and he jerked backwards. But as nervous as he was, he lifted his chin and said defiantly, “Your dad should see you now, threatening me again.”

“You threatened me first.”

“I just want to be safe! Give me that at least!” Cue cried out. “I can’t keep waiting for Brine to kill me for helping you! Or for you to do it when you finally get tired of playing with me like a God-damn fucking cat with a mouse!”

Cue’s words hit a sore spot within Stiles. His eyes stopped glowing and the dissociative feeling connected with dropping his glamour faded away. He knew what Cue was feeling and not just because he could literally take his emotions, but because he’d lived that fear himself, the waiting of prey who knew they were going to get hurt but not knowing the when.

“Fuck,” he swore softly, taping his fingers on the table. A good morality was a bitch to have sometimes. He could see why the bad guys did without it. “Fine. I didn’t kill Brine and that’s the truth.” He held up a hand, stopping whatever Cue had opened his mouth to say. “But he also can’t hurt you or anyone else. Good enough?”

“I totally want to know what you did,” Cue exclaimed, his eyes taking on a wild glint of their own. “But, okay, yeah,” he added quickly at Stiles’ glare. “Sure, that’s good enough for me.” He was quiet for a while, picking at the crumbs on his plate before he looked back up and smirked. “Just tell me the fucker got a little pay-back?”

Stiles tried to stop the snort of surprise that wanted to come out, but failed. “It’s possible.”

Cue laughed then, loud and braying, a sound Stiles had never heard come from him before. “Okay, I’m not up for the killing bit because it makes me worried you could do it to me. But payback for the shit you went through? That I can totally get behind. Plus, he hurt your dad and that’s not on.” Relaxing in his seat, Cue smiled as if a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders. 

Somewhat unsettled by the abrupt change of emotion coming off the kid, Stiles looked down at the untouched sandwich his dad had given him. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. Having no appetite was becoming a part of him like anxiety was, but he wasn’t worried. The time he’d lived in the preserve had proven sunlight was enough to sustain him.

“So, where to from here?” asked Cue. “Do we just pretend to be okay with each other around your dad?”

Stiles nodded. “We could do that.”

Cue hummed quietly. “And then what, you kill me when you work out how to do it so no one knows it was you?” 

Stiles frowned. It didn’t feel good to know Cue expected him to do it, even though that’s exactly what he’d wanted Cue to think. “I’m not going to kill you,” he reluctantly admitted, wishing his morals would take a hike. He just knew this was going to come back and bite him in the ass, hard and with possible scarring.

Cue couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d been given a million dollars. 

Slouching back in his chair, Stiles sighed. “I get that it doesn’t sound true. I’m having a bad day and can’t be bothered to make the effort to do better.”

“You threaten me a lot for someone who doesn’t mean it,” Cue pointed out.

“I won’t apologize for anything I’ve done.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” Cue said in complete agreement. His gaze flicked to Stiles’ untouched sandwich, the want shining there before being hidden behind lowered lashes. 

Stiles slid the plate towards him. If Cue ate the sandwich, he wouldn’t have to. “They were only empty threats. I’m not someone who goes around hurting people. I’m not a monster.” Why he needed Cue to understand was beyond him. He rubbed at his eyes, tired of the whole thing.

Cue picked up the sandwich, taking a huge bite and speaking around the mouthful. “I don’t believe it. But I guess if you say you won’t, I’ll go with it. I’ll do you a solid, too. I promise I won’t tell your dad about what we did, okay? As long as you stop threatening me.” 

That was exactly what Stiles wanted: Cue to be quiet. “Deal.”

Cue pushed half of Stiles’ sandwich into his mouth all at once and held out his hand, his bitten nails obvious under the kitchen lights. 

When Stiles reached out, he felt Cue trembling under his grasp. Under all the bravado, the boy was obviously still scared and Stiles couldn’t help but enjoy it. He’d always appreciated what fear could make people do, even when he’d been human, and after accepting the fox within himself it was natural to bask in Cue’s discomfort.

Cue pulled his hand back and wiped it on the leg of his jeans. “Fuck, man, seriously, I thought you’d be cold to touch like a fish. I mean, your dad said you’d been out there.” He pointed out the window at the dismal day. “But you’re as warm as me and that just seems ridiculous, given what you are.”

Stiles was offended. He wasn’t a corpse and as far as he knew, vampires didn’t exist. “And what am I?”

Cue shrugged, unrepentant. “I don’t know, not for sure. And I get it, that’s a trust thing so I don’t expect to be told. I just meant ‘cause you’re not human.”

“The weather doesn’t effect me like it does you, that’s all.” As soon as he spoke, Stiles pressed the palm of one hand against his temple. Why was he giving information about himself to Cue of all people?

“No?” Cue looked intrigued. “That’s kinda awesome. Also explains why you can sit there like that without turning into a popsicle.” He pointed in the general direction of Stiles’ chest.

Stiles looked down to find his shirt clinging to him across the shoulders. Water dripped slowly down the back of his neck from his hair. “Lots of people don’t mind being wet.” 

“Yeah, if they’re swimming at the time,” Cue scoffed. “Not sitting around in sub-zero temperatures.” He tugged at the cuff of his own long-sleeved top for further emphasis. “Trust me, Stiles, you’re one strange and terrifying guy.” 

Stiles paused, but not because it was possibly the first time Cue had ever called him by his name. There were stirrings of guilt forming in the pit of his stomach for enjoying Cue’s fear so much. To be aware of the darkness inside himself was one thing, but it was quite another for Cue to comment on it like it was general knowledge. His fae creator had told him it was his choice what kind of fae he’d be and Stiles couldn’t help but think of the crap he’d been getting from his dad and Scott lately about the things he said and did. 

But that was just them being jerks. 

He was still relatively the same as he’d always been, still just himself. Just Stiles. Okay, he’d been getting angry lately, like really, really angry, but with Derek hiding away and everyone else telling him what to do, who could blame him? They were the ones with the problem, not him.

Stiles took a sip of his drink, unable to shake the feeling something wasn’t entirely right in his thinking, but the drink sat uncomfortably at the back of his throat, making him swallow audibly and cough.

Cue had been watching him carefully. When Stiles flailed slightly and rubbed at his throat, Cue’s eyes widened and he whistled softly. “You don’t like that, do you? Even though you threaten me and can do all sorts of scary-ass things, you don’t like to see yourself as something that hides under the bed. Why is that? It makes no sense. Either you have a split personality, which I gotta say wouldn’t surprise me, or you really are just faking the whole bad-guy routine.”

Stiles glared at Cue. Was he ever so annoying when he and Derek had first met? He could totally appreciate his wolf’s restraint of only shoving him into walls and not through them, seeing as he had the urge to shake Cue until his brain turned to mush. 

Smiling like he’d been given a gift, Cue's fear practically melted away with this new-found information. “Man, I got you figured out!” he chortled, actually rubbing his hands together in glee. “You should see your face, totally worth every threat you ever gave me!”

“I could snap your neck for you, that’d be totally worth it too,” Stiles snarled, refraining from mentioning teeth in throats.

***

It was at least an hour after his talk with Cue before Stiles’ dad was swinging open the front door and calling for a little help. Stiles took the shopping bags from him and closed the door, shutting out the howling wind. He then waited for his dad to shrug out of his jacket and gloves. 

“Hell!” his dad exclaimed, jumping a bit when he turned to find Stiles standing so close behind him. “What are you doing?” 

Stiles felt slightly appeased by his dad’s reaction. It softened his response to annoyed instead of pissed-off. “I’m giving you the opportunity to explain the ‘must get along with your fanboy’ schtick.”

His dad smiled hopefully, and Stiles’ wanted to gag at the taste such an emotion put in his mouth. “Did it work?”

“Perhaps, but don’t be too smug about it.” Stiles would not be forgetting he’d spoken to Cue only under duress. “Why was it important?”

His dad didn’t answer, walking down the hallway. “Where’s Cue? You didn’t let him go home in this, did you?”

“Of course I did,” Stiles retorted blithely. “Shoved him out the door, actually. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll freeze to death.”

His dad turned and stared at him. “You’re joking, right?” 

Stiles gave his dad an unimpressed look. “Seriously? You honestly think I’d do that?”

His dad’s answer was muttered as he turned back around, heading for the kitchen. “Recently, kiddo, I do wonder.” Stiles was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

Rebalancing the bags he was carrying, he followed his dad, putting the bags down on the kitchen table. “Cue’s asleep on the sofa. He seemed tired. I told him he could rest for a while if he wanted.” Stiles hadn’t looked too deeply into why he’d offered. He’d been surprised Cue had taken him up on it, but the kid had practically fallen onto the cushions already asleep. He was now snoring the deep sleep of the untroubled. Stiles had watched him for a while with quiet envy.

His dad clasped him on the back of the neck. “You did good. He needs someone to look out for him.”

“Is that what this was about?” Stiles asked, moving out from under his dad’s touch to open the fridge door. “You don’t expect me to babysit him, do you? Pretty sure he’d have issues with that and curse both of us before he’d even think of accepting. Well, he’d swear at me. He thinks the sun shines out of your everywhere.”

His dad chuckled but then grew serious. “The boy’s just in need of some family.”

With his hand halfway in the fridge holding a carton of juice, Stiles looked over his shoulder at his dad. “We’re not his family.” 

His dad just sighed and opened the pantry door, placing several jars on the shelves. 

Stiles put the juice away and closed the fridge, then leant against it, folding his arms. “You still haven’t found any living relatives?”

His dad didn’t answer, just gave a loaded look which only served to double Stiles’ curiosity, before walking quietly into the living room. Stiles heard him checking on Cue before coming back and sitting at the kitchen table. 

Stiles joined him. “What is it?” 

His dad’s mouth pulled down. “I did find someone.”

“Yeah? Cue must be excited.” Stiles eyed his dad, noting the pinched frown. “Unless you haven’t told him?”

His dad grunted. “I told him. That’s not the problem.”

“Oh.” Stiles knew that tone. “What’s wrong with them?” 

“There isn’t anything wrong with them. Legally. That we could find, anyway. They just don’t want him. In fact, their exact words were enough for me to believe Cue is better off far away from their influence.”

“That harsh?”

“That uncaring.”

“Does Cue know?”

Stiles’ dad shook his head. “He knows they’re out there and he can’t go live with them. I didn’t tell him the details and he didn’t ask.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Surprisingly well. Actually, he seemed relieved.”

“But he knew you were looking, so why that reaction?”

“He knew we were looking at his mother’s side. We came up blank there and turned to the father. That’s the family we found.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want anything to do with them and they don’t want him, it works out fine,” Stiles observed. “Cue’s a tough nut, he’ll make it on his own.” He wanted to be more forthright and tell his dad to let Cue be, but knew better than to say it.

His dad shook his head. “He’s strong, but he’s still just a kid. I don’t know, something about that family, just … it didn’t feel right.” 

Unease settled in the air and Stiles breathed it in for a few moments before he touched the back of his dad’s hand where it lay on the kitchen table. “People can be dicks.”

“Stiles, language, please,” his dad said, but only halfheartedly, more than used to Stiles’ swearing, even if he didn’t like it.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m just saying, you’ve had a first row seat to the type of stuff people do to their families. It’s good Cue doesn’t have to deal with that. The Robertsons sound like jerks, he’s better off on his own.” 

“They’re not Robertsons,” his dad corrected. “They’re connected by marriage. Last name’s Meahn.”

Stiles laughed once in surprised delight then stopped at his dad’s look. “Oh, come on. How appropriate is that name considering what we’re talking about? You can’t say it isn’t funny.”

“Cue’s life is not a laughing matter.”

Stiles rubbed his nose to hide the fact he was still amused. “I don’t know,” he said, giving up and letting it show. “I think it’s possible to find humor in most situations.”

“Not when it’s at someone else’s expense, surely?” 

Something in his dad’s expression keyed Stiles to the fact he was once again on that slippery slope heading towards his dad’s disappointment. His amusement fled, replaced with annoyance. It was too hard to care about whatever he was doing wrong this time. 

Standing up, he said airily, “Sometimes it’s funnier because it is at someone’s expense.” He turned away, but not quickly enough to miss the shock crossing his dad’s face.

***

His dad waited until Cue woke up then asked Stiles, somewhat stiltedly, to drive him home. Stiles agreed, mostly because he needed a distraction. He didn’t want to keep thinking about Derek and where he might be and what he was doing.

It was strange being in the jeep with Cue as it seemed he’d decided Stiles wasn’t something scary but rather something very interesting. He kept glancing sideways at him, openly staring when they stopped at the few lights between their houses. 

At the last stop before Cue’s, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. When he could, he turned off at the intersection and slowed right down. He had to speak up because of the noise from the jeep’s engine and the rain outside, plus the windscreen wipers screeching across the window at every pass, but he knew Cue could hear him.

“Cue, I swear to God, quit with the eyeballing before I swerve into a road sign just to make you!”

Cue had the nerve to grin. “Yeah, man, your threats are so not going to work on me anymore, you know that right?”

Stiles clenched his hands on the steering wheel. This is what he got for being nice.

Cue turned in his seat fully so he was facing Stiles. “I’ve got some questions.”

Stiles gave him a quick incredulous look before focussing back out the window at the dark afternoon. Just because he threatened to have an accident didn’t mean he actually wanted to have one. “What makes you think I’d tell you anything?” He went for scathing, but it rolled off Cue without hitting the mark if the eye roll was any indicator. 

“Why not? It’s not like we have a secret that binds us in solidarity or anything.” The sarcasm wasn’t as thick as Stiles would have made it, but he gave Cue marks for the straight-faced delivery. 

Stiles sighed, then when it became clear Cue didn’t hear his annoyance he sighed even louder. 

Making a face in disappointment, Cue pointed at a house a bit further up the road. Stiles pulled over a few doors down. He got some satisfaction at the thought of Cue making a run for it before he drowned. 

Cue didn’t open the jeep door. “I’ve just got to say this, okay?”

Stiles didn’t think anything but death could shut Cue up and maybe not even then. He’d appreciate the kid’s tenacity if only it wasn’t focused on him.

“So, I just wanted to say sorry for the part I played in taking your dad. And helping Brine. And shooting a gun at you.” Cue stumbled over his words but he sounded ernest enough.

Stiles blinked at him in surprise. When it looked like Cue was expecting him to reply, he made some noises that could be loosely interpreted to mean he accepted the apology. 

Cue smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up. “We’re good, then?”

Stiles shrugged, not really wanting to say the words and cement this strange equilibrium he seemed to have fallen into. He blamed his dad.

“Awesome! So these questions I have —”

“Get out of my car, Cue.” Stiles almost shoved him out.

Cue scrunched up his shoulders as he stood in the rain, for a moment seeming lost and so very alone. Then he tipped his head up and Stiles saw the brash feral boy he’d met in the preserve, hard grin and all. 

“See ya, Stiles.” 

Giving a little half-wave he slammed the jeep’s door, making Stiles wince, and walked down the footpath as if he didn’t care that by the time he reached his house he looked like he’d taken a swim in his clothes. Stiles waited to see Cue open the front door, security measures drummed into him overtaking any reluctance. Cue turned to wave again and stepped inside. 

Stiles sat back in his jeep and shook his head. He’d never get rid of the kid now. 

His dad owed him big time.

***

Sitting on his bed, Stiles glared at his phone, completely over whatever Derek was doing. He’d ignored several increasingly irate phone messages and almost thirty calls. Stiles had even threatened to revoke sex unless Derek called him back immediately. Which he hadn’t. 

That was yesterday, after Stiles had gotten home from dropping Cue off. If it weren’t for the claiming allowing him to feel Derek in his mind, Stiles would be calling every hospital in the county to find him. If everything was actually okay with Derek when he saw him next, Stiles was going to kill him.

It was mid-morning now and the only good news Stiles could see was the storm looked to be finally letting up. The sky was still dark but his dad wouldn’t have to drive through sleet to the station. Sliding off Beacon Hills’ patched roads was a too common occurrence in winter, and experience with how much it hurt to crash only increased Stiles’ anxiety over his dad’s safety.

Stiles was considering going to the preserve for some exploration just to take his mind off things, when his dad leant against the doorframe. “Guess what, kiddo? It’s time for the chat you’ve been hell-bent on wriggling your way out of every time I bring it up. In the living room, now.”

Dropping his head, Stiles groaned, his phone dangling in his hands. Maybe he could garner some sympathy if he played things right.

His dad scoffed but there was humor behind it, which made Stiles look up in surprise. His dad didn’t seem angry but the set of his shoulders let Stiles know he wasn’t getting out of this. “I mean it, Stiles.” There was the seriousness Stiles had been expecting. “You may legally be an adult but you still live here and I’m still your father. So move it.”

Sighing, Stiles stood up, dropping his phone onto the desk as he walked out of his room. He didn’t need it on him. Derek wasn’t going to call.

***

Shoving his hands under his thighs, Stiles slouched down on the sofa. The way his dad was looking at him made him feel four years old again. Specifically, the day when he’d been playing cushion-baseball in the house after being told not to. He’d given a rather energetic swing at an imaginary ball and broken his mom’s only remaining piece of glassware handed down to her from her grandmother. Stiles remembered the deep gut-wrenching pain he’d felt because he’d made his mom cry. His dad was the one to explain how he’d done the wrong thing. Stiles had been upset for two reasons then: hurting his mom and disappointing his dad. 

“I’m going to get straight to it,” his dad started. “What the hell has been going on with you?”

Not sure where to begin or what he wanted his dad to know, Stiles didn’t answer.

His dad breathed in slowly through his nose. “Fine. You don’t want to talk? I’ll talk. Free free to jump in at any time.”

Stiles wiped at the top of his lip. He wasn’t sweating but felt like he should be. He considered letting his fox ability out to gage more accurately where his dad was at, but he didn’t like the mix of judgmental dismay he was sure would be there, so he didn’t. Directed at him, it made Stiles feel small and left a rotten flavor inside him that wasn’t at all palatable. 

His dad cleared his throat and clasped his knees as he sat on the edge of the sofa. His knuckles were flexing which wasn’t a good sign as he didn’t normally have an agitated twitch, unlike Stiles. This was going to go badly. “For one, and I know I’ve said it before, but you’ve changed. Something’s happened and I don’t know what, but you’re not yourself. I don’t mean the whole different species thing, there’s more to it than that. You’ve been incredibly rude to me, to Cue, to Scott, Melissa, even Derek, to the point where I’m ashamed of your behavior. If you’re not busy being arrogant, you’re listless and despondent. You’re not doing anything with your life. I’m beginning to think I should be talking to Derek and giving him an earful because I know he has something to do with what’s going on with you.”

Thumbing at the cuticle of one finger, Stiles tore it, watching it bleed. He sucked it into his mouth and wondered, not for the first time, at the red color and iron taste. He had no idea how his body dealt with the iron in his blood which should have been a poison to him. All he could surmise was that it obviously wasn’t anything to worry about and was probably only able to be explained by magic.

His dad leant forward, gaining Stiles’ attention once more. Somewhat beseechingly he asked, “Please talk to me. I’m here for you, but you’re pulling away. It’s killing me that you won’t let me help.”

Unable to deal with his dad pleading, Stiles said, “Dad, don’t. You don’t need to worry.”

“But I do and that’s always going to be the case. Is there a supernatural problem?” 

The trepidation in his dad’s voice was such that Stiles knew he couldn’t just brush this off. “Some of it is,” he began slowly, fighting against his instincts in order to answer as honest as possible. “I just can’t get things right.”

“Is it to do with that tree?”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, ignoring the way his dad’s distaste for the Nemeton was so evident. “There’s something pretty important that needs to be done and I’m coming up blank.”

“I’m not following you,” his dad admitted.

Stiles had never fully explained to anyone, not even Derek, just what was required of him as the protector of the Nemeton. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he wanted someone to help him. His eyes teared up and his head feel tight as he wiped at his face.

“Stiles?” His dad looked alarmed. “Come on, son, tell me.”

“I can’t. I actually wish I could but there’s so much to it that can’t be told in words. A big part of it’s instinctive and there’s fae secrets I can’t do anything about. All I can tell you is what I’ve already said. I need to help the Nemeton and I’m stuck. I’m failing. It’s my job and I’m not doing it right.” Admitting it hurt like a hot knife to his insides, and Stiles found himself wishing his dad could make it better.

“There’s no one to ask about it?”

“The fae who made me isn’t here. I don’t know any others.” 

“It doesn’t seem fair,” his dad reflected slowly. “You didn’t ask for the responsibility and yet you’ve got it and have been left to deal with it on your own. I’d like to have words with this fae of yours.”

Stiles huffed in amusement at the idea of his dad telling off the fae. He’d had moments in the past few months where he’d wanted to do the exact same thing. “I’ll work it out,” he said with more conviction than he actually felt. “You think I’m not doing anything with my life but I am. It’s just not a human something and can’t be put on a CV.”

His dad was quiet for a while, thinking things over. Stiles felt a rush of hope. Maybe his dad was actually listening to him. “You don’t want to go to school or get a normal job because of the supernatural one you already have?” 

It sounded insane hearing it out loud and Stiles laughed somewhat brokenly. “Partly. Mostly.” He needed to think how best to explain it. “Being the Tree’s protector means just that. I need to be here to protect it. I can’t do that if I’m at some college interstate.” 

“You could do community college like Scott and stay here. There’s also other colleges within daily driving distance.”

Stiles couldn’t even express how much he hated the idea. “I’d have to graduate from high school first,” he argued, looking for a way out.

“Online courses for a GED, perhaps?” his dad suggested. “You’re made it pretty clear you don’t want to repeat your last year.”

“I’d rather dumpster dive in hospital waste.” 

Stiles had thought his dad understood how he felt, but apparently he was still holding out for a miracle. He couldn’t really blame him. Human Stiles had been all about having the higher education experience. Fae Stiles saw it as a torture akin to iron poisoning. All that infrastructure. All those people … He cringed internally.

Wanting nothing more than to stop this conversation in its tracks, he lied and said, “I’ll consider the GED.”

“Okay, that makes me feel better about your future,” his dad admitted. “But there’s still the behavior you’ve been exhibiting.”

“It’s just stress, Dad. I promise I’ll do better.” Stiles was already switching off. This was just more of the same and had been going on for months.

“It’s not about ‘doing better’,” his dad said in agitation, “because that’s just you acting like there’s nothing wrong. It’s about letting us help you. I thought we’d worked through this with what happened last year. You can’t and shouldn’t think you need to do everything yourself. If being the Nemeton’s protector is such a burden, maybe we can find you a way out of it?”

Stiles shot out his hands. “No! You can’t!” He swallowed and tried to calm his suddenly racing heart. His magic perked up and he had to make an effort to calm it back down. “What I mean is, it’s not something I want changed. I just suck at things right now and it’s making me feel like crap. It’s just me not being capable.”

“I don’t think that sounds like a healthy way of looking at it,” his dad disputed. 

Stiles cut him off. “It’s okay, really.” 

It was alarming to see his dad’s concern deepen. “Last year you mentioned not having a choice about going away, but we never discussed why that was. Now you’re saying it’s because of that tree. Stiles,” his dad seemed to look right into him, “are you able to leave Beacon Hills at all?”

Squinting his eyes in discomfort, Stiles worked his jaw. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he could leave. Just the idea made him want to gasp for air that suddenly wasn’t there. “I don’t know,” he said, surprising himself with being honest once more. “It’s like when you had the chance to go to Poland but didn’t because Mom couldn’t go and you didn’t want to leave us.”

“How is that the same thing? I still had the choice. I don’t like to think some magical tree is stopping my son from living the life he wants.”

“But it’s not stopping me. Did you ever think we stopped you?”

“No, of course not. It wasn’t a good time to go. You and your mom were more important to me than any trip overseas. I never felt like I missed out.” 

“Same here. The Nemeton is way more important to me than going anywhere else. I don’t feel like I’m missing out or giving anything up by being connected to it the way I am.” That was as much as Stiles was able to say. He prayed it was enough. His dad had to hear him this time. 

“But I loved your mother and you. You can’t tell me you love a tree as much as that.”

Hope ran out of Stiles like sand, and he rubbed his hands down his thighs. “Not like love between family, no. But it’s there, even if it’s different. The Tree …” he trailed off. He couldn’t explain just how intertwined the two of them were, how it felt like his heart beat only because the Nemeton existed. He couldn’t say it. Not to someone who refused to listen. Sighing, he shrugged. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His dad stood up and came over, sitting down next to him. Reaching out with one hand, he tipped Stiles’ head back with a grip on his chin. The action was similar to what Melissa did when she checked for concussions and got him to follow her finger with his eyes.

Surprised, Stiles didn’t pull away. “Dad?”

His dad narrowed his gaze. “Is something influencing you like the fae did? Is it the tree? Can it do that? I don’t understand how a tree can have magic, but is it possible you’re being controlled by it?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open and he shoved his dad’s hand away. “What?”

“While I can understand how you would believe everything is how you want it to be, what you just told me fills me with the same dread I felt when this all started. You were under the fae’s control then and I think you’re under it still.”

“Um, no.” Stiles couldn’t believe it. Everything he’d just said had become twisted in his dad’s thinking. He went to stand up, needing to move, but his shoulder was held in a firm grasp.

“I don’t want things to repeat themselves, Stiles. We need to look into this. You didn’t think anything was wrong last time, either. What if it’s the same thing happening all over again and you can’t say anything, just like before?”

Stiles was lost as to how to make his dad see sense. “Dad, I love you and I get it, I do. When things get difficult it’s mostly due to something supernaturally bad. But I promise you, this time everything’s as it should be. I’m just stressed and while that isn’t anything new, it’s just hitting me harder than usual, that’s all.” 

“There’s stressed and then there’s being so cold even Derek is giving you space.” His dad tapped Stiles on the knee. “It’s not hard to notice he hasn’t been around much lately.”

“That’s something else entirely and not my fault,” Stiles defended, moving his leg away.

His dad’s face smoothed into a flat mask. “You know what else I’ve noticed? Just how often your eyes glow recently. It’s a good thing the only people who visit here know what you are.” 

Stiles scoffed and turned his head away.

“You don’t even know it’s happening, do you? Like right now.”

Stiles wanted to disprove his dad, his glamour was still on, thanks very much. But taking the time to check he became aware of just how clear and crisp his eyesight was. He shut his eyes tight and willed his fae sight away. “So what?” he bit out. “Even Scott has times when that happens. It’s just stress.” His dad’s words hurt. His fae eyes were natural, like blinking or breathing and shouldn’t be spoken about like they were wrong. It was part of who he was.

“Unless there’s more to it,” his dad said gently. “I’m not an expert on this by any means, but I do think something’s wrong and we need to fix it.”

“There’s nothing wrong.” Stiles was so very tired of this conversation. “You’re seeing what you want to see. Just because you can’t understand all aspects of my life doesn’t mean you get to pick it apart looking for things to disapprove of.”

His dad’s mouth turned down. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It’s exactly what you’re doing!”

“I’d like to hear Derek’s point of view on this.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, aware this time when they started to glow and uncaring of it. “No.”

“Just for my own peace of mind,” his dad pressed.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, the next time he decides to call me or pick up his damn phone, I’ll let him know his opinion is valued far more than mine!” 

Stiles didn’t want to talk any more. He stood up and walked away, and this time his dad didn’t try to stop him. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos or bookmarked NaN 1: FtPB. Your feedback and wishes for more contributed to me continuing this story. I also appreciate if you've come back to read the second instalment after the long period of waiting. Just a heads up - there is a third part in the works.


	2. The Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy who cried wolf.

Tramping through the edges of the aspen forest not far from his house, Stiles eyed the sky with distaste. The storm had cleared, the wind lessoning and the sky showing blue through the remaining cloud, but its easing was only adding to his bad mood. If the weather stayed fine there’d be people in the preserve wanting to take advantage of the new snow. The thought of them made Stiles tongue his cheek and wish for the weather to worsen.

Stopping at a sapling aspen, he brushed off snow that was bending it towards the ground, immediately feeling sorry for being selfish. Some of the trees weren’t coping well through the storms and a few were dying under stress. 

Touching one such tree unable to cope with the water freezing in its cells, Stiles’ fingers traced the frost cracks, sensing the distress the tree felt. He sent out a swathe of magic, a balm and barrier against infection and rot. If nothing else, the last few months had given him new skills in helping nature, specifically trees, and it settled his soul in a way few things could. The tree almost seemed to sigh, relaxing under the soporific quality of his magic.

His phone rang jarringly loud and Stiles fumbled when he pulled it from his pocket, sudden nerves making him swallow before seeing it was Scott. “Hey. What’s up?” he answered somewhat dismissively.

Scott yelled down the line, “Stiles, you need to get over here right now!” There was an almighty crash and Stiles heard Liam cursing in the background.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” Stiles turned in place, snow crunching under his bare feet.

“Corner him!” Scott called to someone before he answered, “I’m at home, and it’s Derek!” 

Stiles didn’t wait to hear anything else. He pocketed his phone and sunlight-leapt straight to Scott’s backyard before running up the back steps, opening the door and calling out, “Derek?”

“In here!” yelled Mason from further in the house, followed by what sounded like someone colliding with a wall.

Stiles skidded into the living room. “Derek?!” he gasped, his mind needing a second to process what he was seeing.

Scott was backing a giant black wolf into a corner while Mason crouched down, checking on Liam who was holding his shoulder and growling where he lay. The large dint in the wall above him attested to what Stiles had just missed. 

Stiles’ attention fixed on the wolf. He knew it was Derek, could feel their bond come alive from being so close to each other, the way it had been doing recently. His claim mark throbbed on his neck. 

But he was wary, he’d never seen Derek this size, had no idea it was even possible for any werewolf to get so big during transformation. Derek was at least twice as big as a normal wolf and while it was smaller compared to the alpha form Peter had run around in, this wasn’t a wolf-human-hybrid type of thing. Derek was completely wolf, from his shining blue eyes which locked on Stiles the minute he came into the room, to the huge claws leaving gouges in the floor, to the tip of his very wolfy tail.

Scott had his hands held out, down low, as he risked a quick red-eyed glance over at Stiles. Derek growled softly in warning as Scott shifted his weight. 

“Huh,” Stiles stated. He folded his arms and cocked his head. “Want to explain yourself?” 

Derek turned his face away, the tip of his tail twitching. 

“No? You just, what? Thought you’d evolve into Epic-Wolf and go on a rampage at the McCalls?” Stiles took in the damaged furniture and tried to contain his anger which had less to do with the house and more to do with Derek’s inability to do the right thing by him. “Melissa’s going to have your balls when she sees this.” 

Derek glanced at him, then away again. 

Stiles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked over at Scott and the others. “Anyone want to tell me anything? Like for instance, why he’s pissed at you?” He could see this being their fault. Liam and Mason were able to irritate the hell out of him just by breathing these days.

Slightly breathless through shock, Mason laughed slightly. “I thought his size would be the first talking point.” 

Stiles made a disparaging sound. Mason was an idiot. How had he not seen this before? 

Taking offense, Liam flashed his eyes and stood in front of his best friend, rotating his shoulder but obviously geared up to take Stiles on if it came to it.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking them over scornfully, while Mason backed into the wall behind him like Stiles was something to be scared of.

“Well, wouldn’t it?” Mason asked timidly. “He is the size of a small pony.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles explained, “Considering you were in a stand-off before I arrived, don’t you think that point is more important right now? We’ll get to the size thing after you’re not in danger of becoming doggy chow.” He wondered if he actually cared if Derek took a chunk out of any of them.

Derek whined unhappily in the back of his throat and dropped his head.

Stiles walked towards him, not the least bit worried Derek would display any aggression. The claim mark was a brand on his neck, burning the closer he got but not with pain. Dropping to his knees, he pulled Derek’s face up to meet his, using fae strength to do it because Derek’s head was almost the size of one of the jeep’s hubcaps and he was being stubborn. 

Blue eyes finally met his and the worry seeping off Derek was so strong it was nauseating. Stiles clenched his fingers into fur and rested his forehead against Derek’s. “You going to change back anytime soon?” he whispered. 

Derek huffed and almost toppled him over, snuffling up Stiles’ face and crowding into him.

“That’s the thing, Stiles.” Scott was hesitant. “I don’t think he can.” 

Peering at Scott from behind Derek’s shoulder, Stiles ran his hands down trembling forelegs. “What do you mean, he can’t?” Derek was still snuffling Stiles’ skin and his tongue swiped across his neck. The claim mark sang under the attention and Stiles jerked, uncomfortably aware of everyone watching him. 

Liam was still scowling. “He started acted weird and then Scott called you.”

Pinching a large tendon in one of Derek’s front legs, Stiles hoped to get him to stop licking his neck. Derek whined but put his tongue back in his mouth. Shuffling out from under him, Stiles straightened his t-shirt to cover the claim mark and stood up. 

“Derek was with you three when all of a sudden he started acting weird … ?” He gestured for someone to continue.

“Weirder than usual,” Mason added like he thought that helped. 

“Weirder than usual,” Stiles repeated slowly, because Derek wasn’t weird and Stiles took exception to Mason thinking he could say something like that without any reprisal for it. “And that consisted of what, exactly?”

Liam and Mason looked at each other. Stiles imagined smacking their heads together. Maybe it would loosen their tongues or jolt their brain cells.

“Growling,” Mason finally clarified.

“Glowing eyes,” Liam added.

“Pacing.”

“And then changing into that.” Liam tipped his chin. “Then he got aggressive.” Derek growled, and Liam sent Stiles a pointed look.

“So he acted like a wolf and then turned into one,” Stiles summed up dryly. He turned to Scott. “Help me out here because I’m getting nothing from these two idiots.” 

He ignored Liam’s offended, “Hey!”

Scott, who’d been frowning over at Derek, shrugged his shoulders. “They’ve got it right. It was weird.” 

Stiles groaned. “Give me details, preferably in a complex sentence. How was Derek acting weird, beyond the wolf-like behaviour? I ask, because the reason for it could be several-thousand different things, so none of what you’ve given me so far is at all helpful without some context.”

Scott was at a loss. “I don’t know, Stiles. He was scratching at his skin like there was something underneath, he started shaking his head and the change seemed like it was pulled out of him and not of his choice.”

Stiles pointed at him. “There! That’s helpful! Seriously, it’s not that hard!” 

Derek bumped up against his thigh. 

“You really can’t turn back?” Stiles asked.

In answer, Derek shook himself all over, whined a high pitched sound that had Scott and Liam wincing and dashed out of the living room, leaving the house by the open back door.

“Well, shit,” Liam exclaimed.

“What he said,” Mason agreed.

Normally, Stiles would have immediately chased after Derek, but something niggled at the back of his mind, something he knew was important. He went back over everything he’d been told. Then it clicked. “Why was Derek here?” 

He knew as soon as he said it that he’d hit upon something. Scott shared a quick look with Liam, while Mason bit his lip and stared at the floor. The room filled with the feeling of being busted and Stiles curled his lip up and narrowed his eyes. 

“This is connected to why Derek’s been so secretive, isn’t it? You know something.” 

Scott understood what he was talking about, Stiles had complained to him a little while ago, needing support. The idea that Scott had known what was going on and said nothing made Stiles instantly furious. 

“Stiles, it isn’t like that —” Scott held up his hands in a soothing gesture.

Stiles didn’t want to hear his excuses. “Isn’t like what? Anything I need to worry about, or even know about? As long as you all do, of course.” He looked from one of them to the other, the fury that burned through him only just outweighing the hurt. “You’re going to leave finding Derek to me because you don’t want to be around me right now.” 

“Stiles, we didn’t mean to upset you.”

Purposefully letting his eyes glow, Stiles stared at Scott. It was as much a threat as it was a way to make sure Scott couldn’t read him. His fae eyes were unknowable, and now also unkind. A coldness settled within his bones and he imagined breaking Scott’s with unbridled satisfaction.

Scott’s eyes flashed red for a second in response before they changed back to their normal brown and he stared at Stiles beseechingly. Stiles had seen him use the same trick on others and wasn’t fooled. Scott felt he didn’t need to show force because he was secure in his True Alpha-ness glory and didn’t see Stiles as a danger. 

“I told Derek we should let you know what was going on.”

Stiles kept his breathing slow through sheer force of will, his muscles tight as he forced himself not to attack. People keeping secrets from him was only karma coming back around. He may not have the right to complain, but that didn’t stop him from hating it or from wanting to punch Scott in his crooked-jawed face.

***

Running through the preserve, snow squeaking under his feet, Stiles followed the rather impressive trail Derek had left. It was impressive because even though the snow lay deep in places and Derek was currently the shape of a small bulldozer, he was surprisingly hard to keep track of. 

The trail Stiles followed consisted of scratchings near a group of rocks, snow brushed off a bush and paw prints in wet soil beneath an overhang. When he was lucky, Derek plowed through snow banks, giving a clear direction, but for the most part Stiles relied on his fae sight to pick up clues he would have otherwise missed. He was also trying to find Derek through the earth and the trees with his magic but for some reason he could only catch the rarest glimpses of what the forest knew. That in itself was worrying, but as he had so many other things to worry about right then he put it to the back of his mind.

He skidded to a stop, snow pluming up in a small cloud before settling. There was only one thing to run towards in the direction Derek was going and Stiles couldn’t understand why his wolf would choose to do so. But if the Nemeton grove was where he’d find him, then that’s where he’d search. 

Stiles started running again, wanting to sunlight-leap to the Tree to save time but if he was wrong he risked missing Derek completely and having to backtrack. 

The trail was now easier to follow as if Derek had given up on stealth. It meant Stiles could speed up until he was almost flying over the crisp snow drifts, leaving bare foot prints behind him. He came to an abrupt stop, well before the grove, in an open area large enough that the evergreen pine trees which grew around it only just brushed each other’s branches. 

Derek was sitting near one of the pines, still wolf-shaped and seemingly waiting for him. 

“Der?” Stiles queried, slightly unsettled as the claim mark started burning again. “Is there any chance of you turning back?” Pulling his shirt away from the puckered skin on his neck, Stiles breathed out as the cold air gave mild relief from the strange burn.

Whining, Derek stood up, his tail drooping between his legs as he shuffled his paws, taking a few steps forwards then backing up. He repeated the move, stuck with indecision. 

“It’s okay, Der.” Stiles knelt on the ground, the snow immediately soaking into his jeans, and held out his arms. “It’s okay.” 

Eyes flashing blue, Derek leapt forwards, running quickly to Stiles before pushing him over backwards. 

Stiles wasn’t impressed. “Not funny. Bad wolf.” 

Derek licked up the side of Stiles’ face then lay down on top of him. 

“Jesus, Derek!” Stiles wheezed out and pushed at his chest. “Get off!” 

When Derek didn’t move, Stiles used his fae strength and shoved at him again, getting fingers between ribs. Derek grunted and shuffled to lay at Stiles’ side, giving him a reproachful look. 

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles exclaimed, sucking in a lungful of air. “You’re a behemoth! Count yourself lucky it wasn’t a knee to the groin!” 

Derek whined once more and placed his head on Stiles’ stomach, a solid weight of contrite wolf. Stiles sighed and carded fingers through the dark fur on top of Derek’s head. Rumbling a pleased sound, Derek closed his eyes, his head becoming heavier as he relaxed. Stiles curled his fingers around one of Derek’s ears and stroked the patch of circular fur which grew just on the underside where ear met skull. He loved to touch it because it was soft like silk, but it was obviously connected to a nerve and made Derek shake his head every time he did so. 

Sure enough, Derek lifted his head and shook his ears, huffing once to make Stiles’ stop. 

Dropping his hand, Stiles leant up on one elbow. “As much as I appreciate the new look you’ve got going on, because you are the most beautiful wolf, Der, we do need to work this out.”

Derek huffed and pushed into Stiles’ chest, threatening to topple him once more. Stiles grabbed Derek’s head and shoulders. It was a very one-sided scuffle and he was soon back under Derek’s weight, only this time it wasn’t just a head but also front legs holding him down. He could still breathe but was unable to sit up or move away without using fae strength. He automatically started petting Derek’s fur again, not able to leave it alone when it was so thick and soft. 

“What gives, cuddle-wolf? We can’t just stay like this, we need to change you back.”

Derek looked down at him.

Stiles sucked in a shocked breath and his hands stilled, sunk deep in Derek’s ruff. Gold wolf eyes kept him caught and unable to look away. Derek’s gaze was knowingly feral and spoke of mountains and forests and seasons changing and rivers and hunting and prey and mating and cubs and freedom. 

The wild fae in Stiles rose up, entranced and willing.

Derek dipped his head as Stiles tipped his chin back, baring his neck. A patch of sky between the trees was a blue so clear as to be almost white. Derek’s tongue found its way to Stiles’ claim mark and licked a slow heated stripe along it. Stiles keened deep in his throat and wrapped an arm around a thick muscled neck as Derek’s tongue kept moving. Each swipe went right to Stiles’ dick and he humped the air slowly, his hip bumping against Derek’s side. 

Derek’s tongue left Stiles’ neck as he tried to climb on top completely. Stiles snapped awake like a rubber band being let go, even as his body was moving to help, legs splaying to the sides and arms falling free in repose. 

“What the fuck?” he gasped out. Rather than trying to get Derek off him, he sunlight-leapt from underneath to a spot a few feet away. He landed on his back, breathing shakily.

Derek collapsed on the ground but spun in Stiles’ direction quickly. Stiles made sure not to look directly at his eyes. 

“Derek,” he said warningly, getting up as Derek stalked towards him. “Don’t do this, this isn’t you.” 

He caught a glimpse of the tip of Derek’s dick protruding from its sheath and balked. It was one thing to ponder the whole cornucopia of sex he and Derek were technically capable of, and maybe he’d gotten off more than once to the idea of some furry fun times, but it was quite another thing when the reality was a super-sized Derek not fully in control of his actions.

“This has to be a spell, or maybe you came in contact with something.” Stiles’ mind whirled as he backed up. “Derek, you have to help me out here! I have no idea what it could be that’s making you act like this!”

Derek growled and kept advancing, his eyes pulsing distractingly. 

Stiles locked gazes with him momentarily and found himself on the ground, golden eyes boring into his soul and convincing him he was right where he should be: submitting under his wolf. Derek’s dick was grinding harshly against the side of his thigh. The weight of his wolf didn’t bother Stiles anymore and he tipped his head back, begging. 

“God, Derek,” he panted, eyelids growing heavy as a wave of want and longing flowed over him. It came from both of them and Stiles was hopeless to fight it.

Teeth bit down gently on the curve of his shoulder and Stiles cried out, running his hands over fur, tugging and pulling, getting grunts and whines in response and the heated slide of Derek resting in the hollow of his hips. Stiles shut his eyes. 

The spell broke.

A cold rush like being dipped in ice swamped over Stiles, making him shiver from head to foot. 

Without opening his eyes, he pulled himself through the sunlight again, this time out of the immediate area. He knew he should leave the preserve completely, the longer he stayed the more likely he’d end up doing it doggy style. Literally. He could feel the spell or whatever’s effects lingering on him and a good part of him wanted to be back underneath his wolf. There was a real risk, but he couldn’t leave Derek like this. 

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered, needing to hear his own voice to drown out the lingering trace of Derek breathing in his ear, and swiped a hand over his eyes. 

Derek’s howl, calling for him to come back, ripped through him like an electric shock. It was seeped in wanting and sadness and magic and Stiles half-turned to go back before he stopped himself. He held onto the tree closest to him and counted to ten, trying once more to connect with the tree or the earth beneath him but yet again he found it impossible. Somehow he was barred from connecting to nature. It was too much of a coincidence. Someone must be blocking him and that same someone was mucking with Derek.

Thick panting came from behind him. He turned slowly and there was Derek. 

Keeping his eyes averted, Stiles focussed on Derek’s paws, noticing how they were shuffling again. This time Stiles knew it was because Derek was fighting the pull of whatever had hold of him. 

“I understand now, Der.”

Derek’s head lowered and he whined a broken sounding whine. If nothing else, his constant whining should have alerted Stiles to his inner-turmoil. He’d been trying to tell Stiles something was seriously wrong and when that hadn’t worked, he’d run. And Stiles had chased him.

“I’m sorry, I fucked up.” 

Taking his hands off the tree, Stiles took a few steps towards Derek before kneeling down. 

Derek tensed and jerked backwards, only to stumble forwards as if pulled by an unseen force. His lips pulled back and he growled softly in distress. 

“It’s okay, Der,” Stiles coaxed. “It’s okay.” He held out a hand like he had before, still not looking at Derek’s eyes. “Come on.” 

Derek lost all the fight left in him, tail wagging as he bounded forwards.

Just when he was about to pull Stiles down onto the ground, Stiles whipped his other hand around, held in a tight fist, and smashed it against the side of Derek’s face. A sickening crunching followed the blow and Derek tumbled sideways. The feel of bones shattering under his fist made bile rise up in Stiles’ mouth.

Eyes glazed and fixed on nothing, Derek lay with chest heaving and back paws twitching lightly over the snow.

“Oh, shit, Derek!” Stiles cried out and stumbled to his side, fingers touching Derek’s muzzle ever so gently and coming up bloody. “I’m so sorry!”

Derek’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out. There was a moment of stillness then his body shifted, changed and shrunk in on itself. Fur became skin and his human form lay in the impression his wolf body had left in the snow.

“Wake up!” Stiles shook his shoulder.

Derek’s eyelids fluttered open and after blinking a few times he focussed on Stiles, eyes clear and green and calm. 

“How are you feeling? Wait, don’t talk, you’ve got a busted jaw.” Stiles’ relief was extreme and he leant forward and rested his head on Derek’s side, exhaling while hiding his face. “God. Thank fuck that worked.” 

“Ow,” Derek mumbled and sat up slowly, dislodging Stiles. With a sound like gears clicking together in a wet meaty sack, he set his jaw and cheek bones back into place and coughed up dark blood onto the snow. 

Stiles reached out a fluttering hand but before he could touch the broken skin near Derek’s mouth, Derek caught his fingers and held them away. “It’s fine, Stiles,” he said, his voice clearer than before, his jaw already healing.

Deflating somewhat, Stiles then straightened up. “What the hell was that?? You’d better explain or so help me, you’ll be missing out on more than just sex in the near future!”

Derek blinked. “There’s missing sex?”

Stiles shushed him. “You didn’t call. I vented. You still didn’t call. It’s your loss, I’m not backing down. Anyway, that’s not the issue here.” They both stood up, Stiles taking most of Derek’s weight. “The point is, you’d better start talking or I’m leaving your naked ass in the woods and you can limp home alone.”

“I’m not limping,” Derek pointed out rationally as they slowly backtracked through the snow.

“Don’t ruin my dramatic gesture with technicalities! I’m serious, Derek, what’s going on?”

Derek rubbed at the blood on his mouth and frowned. “I don’t really know. The urge to be with you was overwhelming and I knew I had to fight it. I tried to protect you.”

Stiles couldn’t help his derisive snort. “You turned into the biggest freaking wolf I’ve ever seen and your urge to ‘be with me’ was seriously edging towards non-consensual. Well, mostly. There were moments where I think we were both spelled.”

“A spell? Why would someone do that?”

Stiles threw up one hand in exasperation and Derek slipped in his hold before Stiles rightened them both. Derek was a heavy son of a mother. “I don’t know! Maybe someone gets off on the idea of us fucking!”

Derek gave him a disbelieving look. “Fornication through misadventure with animals?”

“It’s only a theory.” With distain so thick it dripped off his tongue, Stiles then asked, “Care to explain what you’ve been doing for the past four months and why it involves Scott? If it means we have to go through things like this, I should probably be aware of your actions. But no pressure.” He looked around for a tree that wasn’t covered in needles to rest Derek up against. Some personal space for this conversation would be good, but dumping Derek in the snow probably wouldn’t help with open communication. 

“I don’t think this has anything to do with that,” Derek grunted.

Stiles found a large elm and helped Derek get situated. “Okay, let’s say they’re not connected, I still think its time you let me in on whatever you’ve been doing.”

Derek’s frown only got deeper.

Stiles ignored how tired Derek looked. “I know I’m the last person who should have issues with someone else having secrets, but enough is enough. Can’t you see what it’s doing to us?”

Confusion was evident when Derek asked, “What are you talking about?”

“We’re not fine, Derek. This secret is taking a toll. I can’t support you if you don’t let me in.”

Derek folded his arms. “No.”

“No?”

Derek shook his head. “No, Stiles. I’m not letting you get involved in this.”

Stiles was incredulous. “Are you serious? After all this,” he gestured with an outstretched palm at Derek’s naked body then at himself, “you’re going to say that to me?”

“Yes,” Derek grunted, without apology. “Because as I said, one has nothing to do with the other.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do.”

“How? Why don’t you explain, if you’re so sure?” Stiles clenched his hands, trying to stop the shaking that had started. 

“Stiles, don’t be an ass about this,” Derek sighed.

“Me?! I’m not the one who’s lying this time! You wanted our relationship to be about trust but do your very best to break it. This is too extreme not to explain it to me!”

Derek pushed away from the elm’s trunk and Stiles stepped back instinctively. A look of hurt flashed across Derek’s face before his frown wiped it out. He remained silent.

Stiles tried again. “Unless you can explain everything, I’m going to assume we’re both in danger and you’re quite okay with me being in the dark about it.” 

Derek frowned harder, all tense lines and furrowing eyebrows, saying so much without saying a word.

What Stiles heard made his legs feel heavy and he wanted to sit down. “I’m right?” It had been a stab in the dark, one he hadn’t believed, his mouth running off with his frustration as he hoped to get Derek to admit to something. 

When Derek still said nothing, Stiles’ self-doubt beat against his ribs, a trapped bird in a cage. His hands shook with adrenalin and he twitched his fingers to relieve them. His throat tightened up and he could hardly speak above a whisper. 

“Why wouldn’t you want my help? Am I that untrustworthy? Do you find me that damaged?”

Moving faster than Stiles could, Derek grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “You are neither of those things! Don’t you ever doubt how much I love you or how much I am in awe of you! This isn’t about your insecurities, this is about keeping you safe!”

Derek’s fingers hurt where they dug into his skin but instead of pulling away, Stiles used the pain to focus, fighting against the ache in his chest. “Keep me safe from what? What gives you the right to keep me ignorant, if knowing means I can help?!”

“That’s why I won’t tell you! I knew you’d want to be in the middle of it and I just can’t have it!” Derek was shouting into Stiles’ face before he stopped and swallowed, closing his eyes. Breathing out harshly, his eyes opened, a bleakness in them that tore at Stiles. “I won’t have you getting hurt when I can stop it. You don’t need to be involved. I won’t let you.” He let go of Stiles’ arms, stepping away with a slight stumble before he leant against the elm once more.

Stiles couldn’t speak under the weight of his incredulity. When he finally could, his eyes were bright and clear with fae sight. His dad was wrong, he was in control every time it happened, even if it was an unconscious act. It wasn’t a by-product of something, it was just him. “You won’t let me?? You think you can control me? I’m not someone you can fuck and say nice words to and then expect to order around!” Grabbing at his shirt, he pulled the neck down, exposing his claim mark. It felt hard and unyielding, the scar tissue pulling on his skin. “Just because you bit me doesn’t give you the right! Screw you, Derek Hale!”

Derek seemed to deflate but his resolve was still intact. “God, Stiles, listen to me! I need to protect you!”

Stiles breathed harshly through his nose. Everything was crashing into him, there was too much to parse out, he couldn’t think. “Come find me when you’re ready to do some major ass-kissing and explaining.”

“Stiles, wait a —”

Stiles sunlight-leapt away. 

Arriving in his backyard, he shimmied up his sycamore tree, climbing to the top-most branches while weaving illusions around himself of invisibility and silence until he was covered with a blanket of magic. The sycamore always comforted him and held him in its branches, much like his mom used to enfold him in her arms, but he was unable to slide into the tree’s awareness when he tried, having the same trouble he’d encountered in the preserve. 

Hitting the branch he sat on, Stiles yelled out his fury then smoothed his palm over the bark in apology even though the tree hadn’t been hurt. Feeling heavy in heart and body as the biting cold whistled around him, he sent his magic tentatively out into the wind, relieved when it obeyed. 

Wanting everything to just stop for a moment, Stiles slipped along the air currents and whirled above his physical body. He was wind, energy and thought alone, flying and free.

***

Coming back to himself after extended air-traveling wasn’t the best. Stiles edged carefully down from the sycamore’s high branches, his movements painfully slow. His head was mushy and rested on nothing but a thin stick projecting from his shoulders.

He curled up under the blankets that were always in the tree now. There was even two outdoor pillows as Derek had complained he needed something more than wood to rest his head on. Stiles had replied it depended on the wood and had proceeded to show Derek the ultimate rewards of having wood under head, or in Stiles’ mouth if he was being technical about it. But Derek hadn’t visited in a while and the pillows had become hard and heavy with frost. Stiles tipped them over the bower’s edge, hearing twin thuds as they landed in the snow below.

He shouldn’t have left Derek. Stiles knew exactly what it was like to have no control over his own body. But instead of being supportive, he'd been a whiney baby and chucked a tantrum because Derek wouldn’t give away his secret.

Shifting the blankets, Stiles welcomed the darkness when he pulled them over his head. They were cold but it didn’t bother him, their weighted comfort being what he was after. He tucked his feet closer to himself and made as if he was an insect, hiding in a cocoon. Maybe when he emerged he could fly away and nothing would matter anymore. 

At least there was that: he could still use the air. His ability to commune with trees and earth had been blocked but he wasn’t completely cut off from nature. And the sun was still part of him too. If that was taken from him, Stiles had no idea how he’d survive. 

He rubbed at his chest. Fucking magic mess-up. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

Stiles flipped the blankets from over his head and sighed. Pulling out his phone, he stared at it before pressing Derek’s number. It rang out and went to voice mail. He tried twice more before giving up, wondering if Derek was angry and refusing to take his call or had turned back into a huge wolf, unable to control himself. What if he got hurt while Stiles was sulking up in his tree?

Sliding over the edge of the bower, Stiles jumped down to the ground. The setting sun cast a dull winter glow through the gathered clouds and he eyed them, hoping they meant another storm. It would keep people out of the preserve tomorrow and if Derek was running around out there, he’d be safe from them.

Walking through the snow, Stiles stepped up onto the porch. When his phone rang he answered it immediately without checking who it was. “Derek?”

“Stiles,” replied his dad, “where are you?”

Stiles opened the back door which he’d forgotten to lock once again. “Home,” he answered. “Why?”

The call ended. 

Before he could wonder about it, there were footsteps coming through the house and his dad was in the back hallway beckoning to him. When Stiles came up, his dad leant in and whispered, “Chris Argent is in the living room. He says it’s ‘imperative' he talk with you.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in surprise. To the best of his knowledge, Argent was supposed to be in France. Or was it Belgium or South America? Somewhere far away at least. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be in Beacon Hills. 

“Aren’t you working?” Stiles hissed at his dad, following his lead to keep things quiet.

His dad made a face that expressed just how much he wished that was the case. “Chris stopped by the station and showed me a few things.”

Stiles’ stomach flipped over. “And those things made you come home?” 

His dad nodded. 

“To find me.” 

“Yeah.”

Stiles whispered quickly, “I swear, whatever he told you, it wasn’t me.” 

His dad sighed, sounding tired and worn out. “It’s about you, but nothing you did.” He grabbed Stiles in a quick fierce hug before letting go, the action doing nothing to stop the nerves skittering up Stiles’ spine. Chris Argent better have a damn good reason for intruding upon them and making his dad fret. 

“Let’s go see what he has to say, shall we?” Stiles gave a quick grin and gestured to the gun still clipped in his dad’s holster. “If he says anything you don’t like, feel free to shoot him. I’ll back you up and say it was in defense.” He received a reprimanding glance that had all the gruffness of the Sheriff behind it and none of the worried dad. “What?” he said innocently. “It’d work.”

“I’m not going to shoot him,” his dad argued quietly as he walked down the hallway. 

Stiles followed, a small twitch curling his mouth despite his worry. “What if he says something I don’t like? Will you shoot him then?”

His dad shook his head but when he stopped just before the end of the hallway and turned around, there was a lightness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. Stiles counted it as a win. Putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, his dad said, “Just don’t provoke him too much, alright? That’s all I’m asking.”

Stiles nodded easily like he wasn’t worried at all. When his dad turned away from him, he put one hand up to the neck of his t-shirt, fingers edging underneath to press against the scaring of his claim mark. He other hand fiddled with the phone in his back pocket.

***


	3. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal: The gift that keeps on giving.

Stiles stopped at the entrance to the living room, everything in him telling him he should leave. 

Chris Argent was sitting on the single sofa, a pile of papers before him on the coffee table, the top one printed with official-looking information. He was smiling but watched Stiles with a keen eye. 

Perhaps that was what created the feeling there was something wrong. True, Stiles had never fully trusted Argent after being threatened very early on in their acquaintance, but he’d since done things that had helped the pack and had seemed to be on their side more often than not lately. 

“Stiles,” Argent greeted, waving a hand. “Sit down, we have lots to discuss.”

“This isn’t your house,” Stiles pointed out, deciding to go with his gut feeling. “I’ll stand.”

His dad, sitting down on the double sofa, patted the cushion next to him. “Chris is here to help us.” When Stiles didn’t move, he motioned with his head. “Come on. This is important.”

Stiles walked hesitantly towards him.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Argent said, his eyes still assessing. “I’ve never hunted fae.”

Stiles stiffened in shock as the last steps towards his dad stretched, the distance suddenly as wide as a highway.

“So you are fae,” Argent observed. “I thought Scott was lying to me, though I couldn’t guess why.”

Sitting down heavily next to his dad, Stiles asked dumbly, “Scott told you?” The betrayal cut deep, opening old wounds.

“It was necessary. Things have progressed to the point where everyone must be fully informed. What happened, Stiles, why is it you?”

Stiles had no idea what Argent meant. Why was what him? Why was he fae? That was a strange thing to ask, unless Argent meant something else. In any case, Stiles wasn’t going to give an answer.

When it became apparent vague questions would get him nowhere, Argent’s lips thinned. “No one’s sure how a human becomes fae, did you know that? They’re reclusive and relatively hard to capture, let alone question, and while rumors abound, true information about them is scarce.”

Anger roiled in Stiles’ chest, wanting an outlet; how dare Argent talk so complacently about capturing fae. But with a subtle intake of breath, he remained silent through force of will. He wouldn’t be baited into showing Argent what an annoyed fae could do.

Argent smiled too easily, too confidently. “I had to persuade Scott to tell me what Derek was refusing to. It never crossed my mind it would be about you.”

A sudden burning in Stiles’ stomach made him feel ill, his anger changing to disbelief. “Derek spoke to you?” He could hardly get the words out. 

The smile grew shark-like. “Many times in the past few months,” Argent confirmed. 

Closing his eyes, Stiles put a hand over his face, needing the physical barrier between him and the room. So this was the secret Derek had been hiding.

“I’ve been visiting when I could,” Argent continued. “Derek asked me to make sure I wasn’t seen. It’s only recently Scott has been helping us, along with his beta and the other one.”

Schooling his face, Stiles lowered his hand and pressed it into his thigh to hide the tremor it held.

“All of this is news to you, isn’t it?” Argent made a small noise of exasperation. “That was a dumb move on Derek’s part, keeping you uninformed.” Spreading the papers on the table, he picked one and held it out to Stiles. “If I’d known who you were when I first got in contact with Derek, things would’ve been handled better.”

Stiles didn’t move, unable to take the proffered page.

His dad reached for the paper, glancing at it in a way that made it clear he’d seen it before, then angled it so Stiles could see the information printed across it. There was a name, several addresses and other generic facts. All pertinent information for a hunter to have on anyone they were after. What caught Stiles’ attention was the picture. It showed a man, middle-aged and nondescript in appearance with average build and height. 

Stiles’ heart leapt into a gallop. He swallowed and pressed his lips together, stopping involuntary sounds from making their way out of his mouth. Argent’s eyes were two hot coals burning into him by the time he looked away from the photo. With great effort to seem unaffected, he managed to say, “Why are you looking for Gavin Brine?”

“I’m not so much looking for him,” Argent corrected, “as I’m trying to stop the people he works with from hunting you. I just didn’t know it until recently.”

Sharing a look with his dad, Stiles hoped his shock at Derek’s and Scott’s actions covered the fact he’d been a hundred percent sure Brine would have a back-up plan in case gaining control of the Nemeton didn’t work. Reprisal and revenge through intermediaries seemed about right.

With an expression of displeasure, Stiles’ dad stated, “Gavin Brine’s a hunter. This shouldn’t surprise me. Nothing in this town is ever straight-forward anymore.”

Argent shook his head. “Brine isn’t a hunter. From what I can gather, he has connections but works on his own for the most part.”

“He had people with him when he was here.”

“They weren’t hunters. Just angry people who fell in with him.”

Though he was loath to, Stiles agreed with Argent’s assessment about the people who’d held his dad and Parrish hostage in the preserve. “They had no super-evil vibe. Just the regular disillusioned kind.” 

Argent raised his eyebrows. “Super-evil vibe?”

“The one nurtured in hunter families,” Stiles explained glibly. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Stiles,” his dad warned.

A sharp tint of annoyance floated off Argent. “I can leave. I’m sure Derek would be happy to know the effort he’s expended is for a kid who can’t understand how much danger he’s in.”

Stiles smirked. It had been far easier to get a reaction than he thought it would be. “I understand the danger perfectly well. I also know you won’t leave. You haven’t gotten what you want.” He was almost certain Argent was using the pretense of helping them out to get information on fae. The question was why.

“Haven’t I.” Argent could cut ice with his expression alone.

“Nope.”

Stiles’ dad shifted on the sofa. “Stop it,” he warned Stiles, then in a lower tone he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles answered. “What’s a few fae hunters? They couldn’t be worse than the werewolf ones we’ve faced before. It’s not like they were difficult or dangerous or prone to killing whole families and leaving nothing but heartache behind.”

Argent’s mouth thinned. “These hunters are different to the ones you’ve faced. These ones don’t have a code. Anyone is expendable and everyone is a target. Even humans.”

“Doesn’t seem so different to me,” Stiles snarked. “I’m sure Derek would agree.”

“You talk about things you only have a basic understanding of.”

Stiles made a noise of derision. He had a basic understanding alright; one born of a night of pain and hopelessness with Gerard. “I don’t like you being here. I don’t like you in my house or anywhere near my dad.”

“I’m not a danger to your father,” Argent said, affronted. “He’s a good man.”

Stiles’ disbelief was palpable. “I will never trust a hunter with my family.”

Argent didn’t flinch but it seemed a close thing. “I’m not a hunter anymore. Which you know quite well, seeing as you had a hand in it.”

That was a low blow. Alison wasn’t Stiles’ fault and he’d spent months trying to get himself to believe it enough in order to not be swallowed by guilt and shame. “I know what I see,” he shot back, curling his lip up in disgust. 

“And what is it you think you see?” Argent almost snarled, true bite to his words. “You, with all your many years of suburbanite experience?” It was a sad comeback, they all knew Stiles had seen and done more than the average teenager. Argent's reaction was almost as if Stiles had managed to score a deeper hit than he’d realized.

“Enough!” his dad shouted, cutting his hand through the air. “Either we discuss things without hostility or this meeting is over.” He squeezed Stiles’ arm, the steely expression on his face suggesting Stiles should think very carefully about what he did next. “You will stop your antagonizing right now.” 

Not meaning to make things harder for his dad, Stiles lowered his head.

His dad turned back to Argent. “Chris, I suggest you start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out. That is why you're here, isn’t it?”

Argent nodded and sat forward, a fair amount of irritation still floating around him. “Gavin Brine went off the grid in September last year. His disappearance caused a stir with a number of hunters who are normally situated on the east side of the country.” He tapped a finger on the papers in front of him. “These are the people Derek and I have confirmed are looking for him. The list is small but significant.” 

“East. That’s a whole lot of America in between here and there,” Stiles’ dad noted. “You said normally situated?”

“They’re moving this way.”

“Why’s Brine so important to them?” Stiles asked. “Aren’t you lot a dime a dozen? You’re like cockroaches scuttling around when the lights go off.” 

His dad shot him a reproving look. 

Miming zipping his mouth shut, Stiles tried to school his face into something contrite but when he picked up on an increase in Argent’s ire, his smirk just wouldn’t stay hidden.

“I don’t know what Brine means to them," Argent replied, voice dry as arid land. "This is information I’ve received through contacts who may not be reliable, given it’s well-known I’m no longer active.”

“So your sources may be corrupted?” Stiles’ dad asked.

“It’s possible. But I can’t think why they’d go to the trouble. I wasn’t looking for this information, it came to me. I had my concerns at first but Derek and I have confirmed enough that I believe more than I doubt.”

“What I don’t understand,” Stiles’ dad picked up the paper with Brine’s photo on it, “is what this has to do with my son. Yes, he has a history with Gavin Brine but you said the hunters would come after him specifically. Do they think Stiles has something to do with Brine’s disappearance? Is this about misplaced revenge?”

Argent stared directly at Stiles as if he expected him to react in some telling way to his dad’s question. When that didn’t happen, he frowned ever so slightly.

Stiles’ dad kept going with his questioning. “Is this about Stiles being fae? What about the one who started this whole mess, couldn’t they go after it instead?”

“Dad, no,” Stiles admonished, hating that his dad had mentioned the fae in front of Argent.

“Stiles, if it came down to putting that fae in the firing range or watching you die again, I’d gladly catch it myself and gift-wrap it for these hunters. You can’t expect me to want anything else.”

“Die again?” Argent’s interest was piqued. “You died?”

Stiles waved a hand absently, silently pleading for his dad to be more circumspect. “Figure of speech. Brine almost killed me a few times.” 

“Not that it was a big deal or anything,” his dad muttered.

They’d never talked about the ‘dying in his dad’s arms’ bit in any depth. Apart from an emotional reunion when his death hadn’t stuck, they’d skirted around it. But it colored more than a few of their interactions. It wasn’t what Stiles wanted and he doubted his dad did either, but now was not the time to dredge it up when Argent was carefully sifting for information like a prospector at a dig site. 

Argent looked between the two of them. “As far as Derek and I can gather, the hunters who are searching for Brine don’t have any idea about Stiles.”

“So why do you think you need to protect him?”

“Because of the reason I initially came back. Brine was after a specific thing. The power of the Nemeton.”

“So the hunters actually want the Nemeton, not Stiles. Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” 

Stiles shot his dad an incredibly unimpressed look. “You’re joking, right?”

His dad had the grace to look somewhat contrite but his jaw jutted out. Stiles had blunted his metaphorical fists knocking against that stubbornness one time too often and knew his dad wouldn’t be changing his negative view of the Nemeton anytime soon. 

Argent shook his head. “The hunters will want Stiles once they know who he is, so they can use the Nemeton. He is the key after all.”

The last part was said so casually that Stiles blinked in shock. There was a beat or two before he could muster up enough feigned ignorance to say, “I’m the what?” The secret of being the Tree’s protector seemed to be the worst kept one he’d ever had. Just another failure on an ever lengthening list.

“My family has an old connection to Beacon Hills,” Argent informed them, obviously not fooled by Stiles’ poor performance. “One of ours had a dalliance with a druid who knew the truth of the Nemeton and the fae protector. He wrote down the secrets told to him and they’ve been in our possession far longer than the Nemeton has been cut down. You shouldn’t be upset with Scott. He only told me you were fae in the hopes it would help you. I pieced together the rest and your reaction just now confirmed it.”

“They’re not your secrets to know,” Stiles hissed out, feeling all sorts of exposed. Being reminded of Scott’s betrayal didn’t help. His anger rolled around within him, gathering momentum.

“You should be grateful,” Argent said, barreling on. “My family doesn’t share information. No one else knows what I know. This has assuredly saved your life. Don’t be fooled, the people who look for Brine will ultimately want the power of the Nemeton, if that’s not the reason they look already. When they find out they need a fae, a particular fae, for this to happen, your life will be forfeit. Along with everyone you love.”

“Why would they suddenly learn this information?” Stiles’ dad demanded. “Are you threatening us?”

Argent snorted in amusement. “Derek and I can’t misdirect them forever. One of our deceptions leads them to believe that Brine has left for Canada but it’s only a matter of time before it crumbles under scrutiny. Our biggest concern is Brine will contact them. That’s all that needs to happen for Stiles to become the prime target. Of course, that’s assuming Brine’s alive.”

Stiles’ dad narrowed his eyes. “If you have information on Brine’s whereabouts, alive or otherwise, you need to advise me immediately.”

Argent shrugged lightly but shot Stiles an entirely too-bland look. One that had Stiles forcing his face into its own blank mask while his brain scrambled around. Did Argent suspect him?

“Do you honestly think Brine was murdered?” his dad continued to push. “Do you have evidence?” 

“The more time that passes, the more I’m certain of it,” Argent confirmed. “But I don’t have any evidence. It’s just a feeling.”

Having seen how a hunter’s feelings could lead to very bad things, Stiles needed to say something, anything, to take Argent’s suspicion away. “Brine probably pissed off someone crazier than him and got dead because of it.”

Both Argent and his dad eyed him with interest. 

Stiles shrugged, trying to appear casual without being too flippant. “I bet there’s heaps of people who could have done it. Brine wasn’t a nice person, take it from someone who knows.”

His dad pursed his lips in shared remembrance. “You’re right, but without a body he’s just a wanted man, not a victim in a murder case and thinking of him as such just takes away from the real threat here.”

“Of course, you’re right, and that’s why I’m here,” Argent agreed. “You could answer one question for me, Noah. The group that helped Gavin Brine and were arrested for kidnapping you and Parrish, I’ve tried to find them but their case files are closed to my police contacts.” He smiled disarmingly but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s necessary to find them in order to know if they’re involved with the group looking for Brine.”

Stiles’ dad looked at him askance. “You don’t need to worry, they aren’t cause for concern in any way.”

Argent’s smile quirked sideways. “How so?”

“They’re dead.”

“Dead?” Stiles spoke up, not having to fake how surprised he was.

His dad seemed reluctant to explain. “A month after they’d been moved to State, every one of them were found dead in their cells. It was precise and professional. I thought it was Brine cleaning up but there wasn’t any evidence.”

The men who’d held Stiles’ dad in a dirt pit in the middle of the preserve had threatened to kill him and held a gun to his head. Stiles felt nothing but pleasure knowing they were gone. Argent, on the other hand, looked politely interested but his emotions showed it for the act it was. Annoyance was what he felt most strongly, though Stiles couldn’t fathom why.

Something more important than the inner workings of Argent’s brain nagged at him, and Stiles turned back to his dad. “You’re helping to look for Brine?” The official operation had been relegated to the FBI and that fact, while alarming, made Stiles feel safer than if his dad was working on it.

“Officially? No. Un-officially, I’m kept in the loop,” his dad admitted. “I help where I can. I’m not going to sit by while the man’s free. That’s not an option.” 

Stiles stared at his dad blankly, one hand rubbing up and down the side of his thigh, imagining evidence being uncovered that led back to him. If anyone was going to find it, his dad would be the one. “You didn’t tell me,” he admonished quietly. He didn’t know what difference it would have made but forewarned was better than blindsided. 

“You didn’t need the worry,” his dad explained, expression softening.

Argent cleared his throat. “I looked into your file this afternoon when Scott told me what you are, Stiles.”

Stiles looked over at him so fast whiplash was a concern. “I have a file?!” 

Argent smiled his shark smile. “You’re the best friend of a True Alpha and let’s not forget you’ve done the impossible: survived a Nogitsune possession. You, Stiles, were remarkable. Now, even more so.” 

Stiles’ breathing started to get funky, his anxiety growing. He tried to hide it but obviously failed, his dad putting an arm around his shoulder which Stiles shrugged off, not wanting to appear weak.

“Don’t look so concerned. You were a friend of Allison’s and that carries weight. No one will learn who you are from me,” Argent said.

Stiles didn’t believe a word of it. If Scott, his supposed best friend, would tell an ex-hunter what he was, he definitely couldn’t trust the word of said ex-hunter to keep his identity a secret. Especially not one who’s father was Gerard. Unless he could hold Argent to it. 

“You willing to promise me that?” Stiles asked when he was sure his voice wouldn’t sound an octave higher than it should.

Argent rocked his head back, affronted. “Trying to trick me into a fae pact? You’re certainly living up to the expectations of what fae are supposed to be like.”

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles was annoyed. Why did so many people know so many fae secrets if they were supposedly such an unknowable race? It made things damn difficult. 

His dad tapped him on his knee. “What’s a fae pact?”

“It gives Stiles the power to kill me and I won’t be able to stop him,” Argent stated simply.

“What? He’s joking, right?”

The description was brief but relatively true, so Stiles shrugged. “I could kill him without it.”

“Jesus, Stiles!” his dad exclaimed. “Chris, you should know my son has always been rather annoyingly adept at getting people to dislike him. Even when he should be thanking them instead of being rude.” 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles wasn’t impressed. He got in trouble for evading the truth and he got in trouble when he was upfront about it. He couldn’t win. “Why do you want to stop the hunters from getting the power of the Nemeton?” he asked Argent, hoping to change the subject. “Everyone has an agenda in regards to it and I don’t see why you’d be any different.”

“Because I know what happens if they do," Argent explained. "There are stories of Nemetons being used by people throughout history. They always end in bloodshed. That power shouldn’t fall into anyone’s hands. The fact you haven’t used it yourself illustrates your integrity. Or that you can’t and you’re only a tool to be used.” 

Stiles knew he was being baited once more. It was slightly insulting Argent thought such a heavy-handed attempt would be successful. “I’m thinking that’s the real reason you got Scott to tell you who I was,” he mused. “Once you knew who the fae was, you could kill them.”

“It would solve a lot of problems,” Argent admitted. “If you’re dead the Nemeton can’t be used.”

Stiles didn’t for one second doubt the danger sitting across from him was very real. He remembered the Nogitsune taunting Argent to shoot him in the head. But he also remembered how Argent had hesitated. “You won’t kill me.”

Argent’s eyebrows rose a little bit. 

“At least, you won’t right now. You know how I know this? Because you’re not certain I deserve it. You want to be sure I’m a monster before you put a bullet in me. Of course, once you think I am, all bets are off, but that’s not going to happen tonight.” 

“You’re not wrong,” Argent agreed. “While my family name may be tarnished, I still have morals and a code. You’re safe from me.” 

‘For the time being’ was left unsaid, but Stiles heard it all the same. “I feel so reassured,” he said dryly. “How’d you know what Brine wanted?”

Argent stiffened the slightest bit and Stiles knew he’d hit on something. “Allison mentioned you didn’t know when to leave things alone.”

Stiles’ dad snorted as if he couldn’t help but agree. “I think you’d better answer my son.”

“I have a contact.” Argent gave Stiles’ dad a look. “You not knowing who it is doesn’t interfere with the police investigation so that’s all you’ll get from me.”

Stiles watched his dad and Argent eye each other, Sheriff verses ex-hunter. An interesting idea came to him in that moment and not being adverse to taking risks, he wondered whether it was worth the possible rewards.

“It seems this meeting’s over,” his dad proclaimed and stood up, gesturing for Argent to do the same.

Leaving the papers where they lay on the table, Argent indicated to them. “These are for you,” he told Stiles.

After Argent left the room, Stiles went very quickly through the kitchen and down the back hallway to his bedroom where he rummaged around collecting Brine’s phone and battery, plus the memory card. His dad was saying a polite goodbye to Argent as Stiles slipped out his bedroom window. 

He’d had the phone since the Tree had sucked Brine into itself. Aside from trying to guess at the numerical code Stiles hadn’t the skills to hack into it, so maybe what he was about to do was the best thing. He hoped so. 

Argent was in his SUV and reversing down the driveway when Stiles stepped out from the shadows and tapped on the window. A gun was pointed at him before he’d even lowered his hand. Maybe it was something he should be used to by now, given that it happened more than he liked, but seeing the barrel pointed at him caused Stiles a moment of internal panic, something he didn’t think would ever change.

Argent looked at him for a second before reversing onto the road and driving a little distance up the street, parking away from the lights of Stiles’ house. 

The passenger window rolled down as Stiles jogged up. He leant against the door, trying to go for confident, and rested his arms on the window frame, looking in at Argent and the gun that was still pointed at him.

“I thought we said everything we needed to,” Argent commented. “I take it there’s something you don’t want your dad to know?”

“Do you mean it when you say you’ll protect the Tree?” Stiles asked.

Argent nodded. “I did. Why?”

Stiles opened his hand where it dangled inside the car. The phone, battery and memory card dropped onto the passenger seat. “You might want this. I’d owe you one if you let me know what you find on it.”

Argent glanced at the phone, lowering his gun but not putting the safety on. “Who’s is it?”

“It’s Brine’s.”

Argent was honestly surprised. “How did you get it?”

“He left it behind the last time we spoke.” Stiles couldn’t help from smiling a little at the memory of Brine screaming as he turned into pure energy and was sucked away. Good times.

Argent kept his gaze on the phone and Stiles could see the wheels turning in his head. “Did you kill him?”

“No.” Stiles had to swallow a dark chuckle. The truth could be so useful sometimes.

“Why give me his phone?”

“I consider it a win-loose situation. I loose the phone and possibly its contents. But if you let me know what’s in there, I win information I can’t get otherwise. You win too, by having me owe you a favor.”

“Shouldn’t you have given this to your father?”

“The law stops him from doing a lot of things.”

“Such as using this information in not-quite legal ways,” Argent surmised. 

Stiles winked at him.

Studying him quietly for a second, Argent commented, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Stiles, but you seem driven to do something and I’m worried what that something is.”

Stiles was all wide-eyed innocence. “I just want to protect my dad and myself.” 

“Hmmm. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, but don’t prove me wrong. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“And I don’t want to die, so we can at least agree on that.” Stiles dropped his hands off the door and stepped back, watching Argent drive away.

When Stiles’ dad came looking for him in their backyard only minutes later, Stiles was up in the sycamore tree.

“Could you come down? I need you to explain some things to me before I head back to work. Like what in the world a fae pact entails, and it better not mean what Chris said it did.”

Stiles sighed. What a long fucking day it had been.

***

After having defused his dad’s curiosity, not an easy task and one that required a fair amount of evasive maneuvering, Stiles got back to what he should have been doing before Argent’s visit: looking for Derek. 

Driving to Derek’s cabin, he wished he could teleport himself at night. He only managed to get to the Nemeton when it was dark and no matter how many times he tried to go somewhere else, it never happened. 

He jumped up the porch steps, using his key to get inside, and sensed immediately that Derek wasn’t there. The lights were off and the house had the feeling of being empty for hours. 

With the earth and trees still out of reach of his magic, Stiles sat on the porch and sent his awareness out into the air. He rose up on a slight gust of wind and swooped around at wolf level, scanning the forest surrounding the cabin, but there was no sign of Derek. 

Coming back to himself, he sat tapping his fingers on his knees before standing up and swinging his arms around, walking back and forth over the porch boards. He rotated his head on his neck and stretched his arms across his chest. The claim mark rubbed under his t-shirt, stopping his fidgeting. He’d never tracked Derek’s whereabouts through the claim, no matter how badly he’d been tempted, because it was very close to spying. Stiles wasn’t above spying, it was very useful, but to do it to Derek …

Yet this wasn’t about secrets, this was about helping.

Brushing fingertips along the raised skin of his scar, Stiles reached inside himself. He pushed past the love that always circled between Derek and himself, reaching beneath the upper threads that tied them together, going deeper until he could sense a pull in one certain direction. 

Turning on his heels, Stiles ran down the porch steps into the trees, fae sight making everything brighter, sharper and more defined. He ran quietly, the realization fae hunters could be in the forest at that very moment making him put on a burst of speed. 

Eventually, he came to the edge of the west side of Derek's forest, further away from the cabin than he’d ever ventured before. The trees were more pine than anything else and their needles were filled with snow, weighing the branches down to the ground and making eerie shapes in the dark. For the first time since Stiles had become fae, trees took on a menacing cast and he felt unwelcome among them.

“Derek?” he whisper-called. 

A whimper sounded behind him and Stiles whirled. When he saw what had scared him, he put a hand on his chest and breathed out, feeling idiotic. 

Derek was back in mega-wolf form, complete with glowing blue eyes. He would have been imposing but for the fact he looked like someone had pulled him backwards through a bush. His fur was mattered and stuck up in tufts. He was shivering as he stood there, head lowered and when he started forwards slowly, he limped on his front left paw.

Holding up a hand, Stiles took a step back, even though he wanted to rush to his wolf’s aid. “Woah, Derek. Wait a second.”

Eyes closing, Derek’s head dropped further as he let out a low whine. The stress rolling off him made Stiles’ resolve melt away and in an instant he was at Derek’s side, throwing his arms around Derek’s scruff and breathing in the strong smell of wildness, forest and the undefinable scent of a shape-changer. 

“Der, let me help you. Please.”

Derek shook, and within seconds Stiles was holding skin and man instead of fur and wolf. Derek tumbled down, lying across Stiles’ legs. Making soothing noises, Stiles rubbed his palms across skin, noting how warm Derek felt even as he lay shivering in the snow. 

“Do you have a fever?” Stiles questioned, praying that wasn’t the case. They were so far from the cabin he couldn’t get Derek back there on his own and anything that could give a werewolf a fever was something which needed immediate attention. 

“Der.” Stiles shook him and Derek’s head lolled. “Derek, wake the fuck up!” 

When Derek’s eyelids flickered, Stiles held his breath, hoping. He pinched Derek’s shoulders near the neck and was rewarded with a flinch. “Come on, my wolf, wake up for me now.” 

Derek stirred in his lap. 

“That’s it, Der, come on.” 

Derek’s eyes opened and he blinked a few times, frowning. Stiles smiled in relief and rested his hand against the side of Derek’s face. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Derek breathed out in reply, sounding tired. “You still mad?” 

Stiles shook his head, wiping a hand quickly across his eyes. “Not anymore.” He leant down over Derek and kissed him, fingers stroking gently across stubble. 

When he pulled back, Derek was humming under his breath and a small smile graced his mouth. His eyes slid shut and his head turned to the side as he relaxed. 

“Hey, no, none of that. Open your eyes, Derek.” Stiles shook Derek’s shoulders until he was blinking up at him again. 

Derek lifted his left hand and slowly examined the reason he’d been limping as a wolf. A stick was impaled through the webbing between fingers and thumb, the sight of it making Stiles wince. 

“Stiles?” Derek said, as he pulled the stick out and flexed his hand. “What happened?”

“That’s a damn fine question and if I had the answers, I’d tell you.” Stiles took a chance and stood, pulling Derek up with him. “Do you remember being a giant wolf and spending quality time in the forest?”

Leaning heavily against Stiles, Derek picked a leaf from the front of his hair, looking at it with a perplexed expression. “That’s what I did?”

“Apparently. I only came in on the last past of the act so I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

Derek held a hand to his head as if it ached. “I don’t remember anything other than needing to get to you. I fought it.” Worried eyes met Stiles’ own. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles grunted, having to use fae strength to keep Derek up. It was as if he’d put on thousands of pounds. “This is officially not good. I’m putting it out there. It’s on the table.”

“The first time wasn’t an indicator of that?” Derek went to take a step forward and his knees buckled.

“Woah!” Stiles slid on the snow before righting them both. “Should you be walking?”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m naked.”

“I noticed.” He always noticed. 

“In the woods. At night.”

“Again, noticed.”

“And there’s snow.”

“You coming up with a point anytime soon?” Stiles was seriously considering a concussion.

Derek sighed. “None of those things make a particularly comfortable situation when placed together.”

Stiles’ concern faded away. “Yeah, okay, no more communing with nature for you, softie wolf.” 

Derek ignored him and tried to take another step but he crumpled, this time taking Stiles down with him completely. 

Rubbing at his knee where it had hit a rock, Stiles said, “I vote we stay here for a bit … until more than just one of us is mobile.”

“We could do that,” Derek agreed.

They shuffled around some, finding a relatively snow-free area behind a pine that created a natural wind-break. Stiles gave Derek the over-shirt his dad had insisted he put on before going out. It was long enough that Derek could wear it and also sit on the end if he scrunched over. He looked so cute and frustrated in plaid that Stiles fought to keep the amusement at bay. 

Derek saw past his attempts and rolled his eyes, tugging Stiles against him before wrapping him in his arms and holding tight. Stiles leant back willingly, noting Derek’s temperature was still higher than normal, but under the circumstances maybe it was a good thing. He didn’t know enough about werewolf metabolisms, fevers or possible hyperthermia to be sure.

“We won’t have to stay for long,” Derek muttered, his nose pressed into Stiles’ neck. “I should be okay to go in a bit.”

Closing his eyes, Stiles got comfortable. It had been a long time since it had felt this right to be held by Derek. He’d been missing the closeness. “Are we okay, Der?” he dared to ask.

After a beat of silence, Derek replied, “I don’t know, Stiles. Are we? You’ve been acting like something’s been bothering you for a while but you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “What? You’re the one causing the wrongness!”

“How’s it my fault?” Derek’s arms tightened around Stiles. “I haven’t done anything to cause you to be so, so …”

“So what?”

“Cruel.” 

Stiles turned his face away. The echo of his dad’s words coming out of Derek’s mouth was just a little too hard to hear. And totally not justified. This divide between them was not his fault. 

Derek placed his palm on Stiles’ neck, close enough to the claiming scar to make Stiles shudder. He could feel Derek’s love for him, rich and strong, but there was a healthy dose of unease backing it up and something else he couldn’t quite place. 

“Feel that?” Derek’s lips brushed against his ear. “Ever since the claim, something’s been different.”

“Bad different,” Stiles surmised, feeling his stomach drop.

Derek kissed the tip of his ear. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I know how you’re going to react but it’s the truth. I feel like I have to protect you.”

“Don’t you always?” Stiles ran his hand slowly up and down Derek’s arm, feeling the hairs under the pads of his fingers.

“Yeah, but this is more. It’s like a primal urge to make sure nothing threatens you, not even yourself. I can’t always fight it and putting space between us when it gets too strong has worked out the best. Otherwise I’d have you locked away in the cabin by now. It’s been incredibly hard to let you out of my sight.”

That was totally opposite to what Stiles had been expecting. He thought the secret of the fae hunters had been keeping Derek away but now he’d learnt there was also this. Whatever this was. “Shit, Derek. Has it been going on since the claim?”

“More or less.”

“You idiot! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Derek winced, Stiles could feel it on the back of his neck where Derek was hiding his face. “I couldn’t. It would mean I wasn’t protecting you well enough if I admitted something was wrong.” 

“That’s completely irrational and stupid. Plus, how come you can tell me now?”

Derek moved his chin to Stiles’ shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think this is the reason for the change in wolf size?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Your secret business can’t have helped. What with the need to protect me already, you must have been going nuts.”

“My secret business?”

Humming a little, Stiles reached behind himself to hold the back of Derek’s neck. “Yeah. The ‘Can’t tell me Chris Argent is in town to stop fae hunters from trying to use me to get to the Nemeton, and also that you’ve been helping him’. That secret.”

Derek shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Then he sighed. “You know.”

Stiles gave an affirmative noise. “Argent visited me. It was … educational.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Derek said in a rush, “Stiles, I —”

“I get it,” Stiles interrupted. 

“You’re not mad?” Hope came off Derek in a smooth wave, enveloping Stiles and making it clear letting go of his anger was the right thing. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I went through the whole furious anger bit. But I’m tired of not having you.” Stiles turned in Derek’s arms to face him. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. Don’t push me away, I can’t take it. Let me in, Der, please.” He brushed his lips against Derek’s, wanting to be closer. 

Derek ran a hand over Stiles’ claim mark, a fire lighting within Stiles at the touch. Settling in Derek’s lap, he pressed his hands flat against Derek’s chest. Muscles twitched under his fingertips and he wanted to run his tongue over the exposed skin and bite down. 

“I like you in my shirt,” he confided. 

“Stiles.” Derek’s eyes were wide and dark as he licked his bottom lip. “Should we do this now?” His hands belied his words, pulling Stiles closer by his hips until there was no space between them. 

Stiles wished he wasn’t wearing pants. “Yes, yes, we should.” To hell with his no-sex ruling. Now the secret was no more he felt closer to Derek than he had in months. But they weren’t close enough. Grabbing Derek’s hand, he lifted it to rest back on the claim mark, moaning at the touch. “We should totally do this. You need to get to fucking me. Unless you want me inside you?” 

As soon as he said it, Stiles craved it. Derek’s body was always so welcoming and hot around him and that’s what he needed right now, to feel wanted.

Derek moaned and shivered under him. “Uhh, yes …” 

They pushed against each other, lips sliding against tongues and hands everywhere. 

Suddenly, Derek pulled back, shaking his head. He grabbed Stiles’ questing hand, stopping it from mapping out his groin. “But I could shift, there’s still that. Stiles, we can’t.”

“Can, we can, we so can,” Stiles panted. “I need this, we need this, Der.” A damn had burst inside him, four months of repressed feelings sweeping over him and carrying him along to an inevitable collision. He wanted it to be Derek he crashed into.

“Stiles, the urge to shift is still too strong, if it happens again I won’t be able to control it and we don’t know what’s causing it.” Derek’s words said one thing, but his body said another as he pulled Stiles’ t-shirt up. 

Lifting his arms to help, Stiles cried out when Derek took advantage and sucked down his chest, leaving small stinging bites, the hot wet heat of his mouth clashing against the cool night air. They’d had sex during the past months but this here, now, was what had been missing. This trust, this openness between them. Stiles could feel the difference as Derek held him tight, unable to let him go for even a second.

“No, we need to stop,” Derek moaned, blinking up at Stiles from under heavy brows.

Stiles cupped Derek’s face reverently. “Keep going,” he whispered, kissing Derek’s forehead then his nose and lips, pushing an unresisting Derek back down to his chest. “I think about it,” he confessed, hoping to allay Derek’s concern, eyes screwing shut as teeth scrapped, followed by a soothing tongue. He carded fingers through Derek’s hair. “I think about what it would be like for us to be together like that.”

Derek pulled his mouth away, and Stiles swallowed at the heated look he was subjected to. “And do you like it? The idea of me fucking you as a wolf?” He slipped a hand inside the back of Stiles’ jeans and cupped his ass, a fire-like branding of heat. 

Stiles tilted his ass in encouragement and imagined Derek licking at his chest with his wolf tongue. Arousal shot through him so hard he jerked and moaned loudly.

Derek’s eyes got impossibly wider. “Do you?” he asked again, fangs slipping past his top lip. “Do you like it?”

There was nothing for Stiles to do but admit it out loud. “I do. It was kinda freaky at first but it’s you and it’s me, and I want you.”

Derek tipped Stiles backwards onto the cold wet dirt of the forest, the smell of loam floating up around them. “You want a wolf to pin you down and fuck into you?”

“No.” Stiles tipped his head back, silently asking for Derek to touch his mark. “I want you to fuck me. It doesn’t matter what shape you’re in when you do it. It’s about it being you. Just you.”

“I want it,” Derek admitted as he ran kisses across Stiles’ skin. His voice was seeped in relief. “Wanted it for so long.”

“I know.”

They’d been skirting around it for ages, playing with the idea but never following through. 

The mark sang under Derek’s heated touch, magic blowing around like the wind, tying the two of them impossibly closer. Stiles knew Derek could feel it, he shuddered as they writhed together, his voice broken as he moaned out, “God, Stiles.”

Stiles flipped them over, Derek beneath him, mind clouding with joint arousal and magic. Derek’s legs relaxed and opened for him as he moved down, kissing and biting as he went. Wrapping one hand around Derek’s dick, he bit hard on the dip between hip and pelvis. 

Derek moaned, his hands urgent on Stiles’ head, directing him. Stiles could hear him talking, saying his name, but the magic pushed everything far away. All that was clear was Derek’s body and his scent, enfolding Stiles in wolf, forest, sweat. He breathed deep and brushed his lips against Derek’s dick. 

His magic seemed to have a mind of its own, pulsing and twisting. Letting it do what it wanted and groaning with need, Stiles swiped his tongue across the crown of Derek’s dick and dipped into the slit. Sliding his mouth down, he closed his eyes. Derek cried out, hips bucking. Stiles rode the motion, getting one hand under Derek’s ass to urge him to keep thrusting. The heat in his mouth, the warm heavy silken weight, had him moaning. 

Derek made a broken sound, his legs shaking with fine tremors, hands turning gentle on Stiles’ head, cradling him like something precious. 

The world was rocking in Stiles’ mind. 

Suddenly, his magic hit upon something. Something hiding inside of his wolf. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Stiles knew exactly what it was. 

He came back to himself with a rush to find Derek arching underneath him, his jaw aching as he breathed in pubic hair. Derek’s legs were hairier than normal and Stiles tugged on the fur, smiling around the flesh in his mouth as Derek groaned and came in hot pulses down his throat. Come filled Stiles’ mouth and slipped out past his lips, making him pull back before Derek stilled under his hands. Sometimes swallowing it all just didn’t work. 

Resting his cheek on Derek’s thigh, Stiles ran his tongue over his teeth, relaxing for a few seconds and trying to ignore the need to clean his mouth in order to let the glow from Derek’s orgasm continue to wash over them both. 

Too soon though, Stiles started thinking about using snow to clean himself, the taste of cold come making him stretch out to scoop snow off a pine bough. The first bite was refreshing and he crunched the ice particles until his mouth was clean, leaning up on an elbow while he spat onto the ground. 

Derek didn’t move, more than used to Stiles buzzing around after sex until content. There was fond amusement coming from their bond and Stiles braced for teasing, but Derek’s smile was gentle when Stiles looked up at him. 

The extra fur that had made an appearance had yet to recede from Derek’s body and Stiles was as entranced by the changes as he was by the expression on his wolf’s face. He blamed his tactile needs and his general love of everything Derek for the fact he itched to run his hands through sideburns that stretched down jaw and neck, and through the fine covering of fur on Derek’s chest. He wanted to cup the heavy furred balls that had rested so sweetly against his chin. He also hadn’t yet come, too wrapped up in Derek’s release to give himself over to it, but now it was his turn. 

Stiles moved up Derek’s body, pulled by the desire so clearly directed at him and mirrored by his own. 

“Clean enough for a kiss?” Derek asked teasingly.

Stiles swatted him with a hand and Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, murmuring his humor into the press of their mouths. Opening Stiles’ pants, Derek held him firmly, stroking twice and pressing his thumb just right. Stiles came over the snow, Derek kissing him through it until he was lightheaded and gasping for air.

They lay together, Stiles blinking slowly as his brain came back online, Derek pressing soft kisses intermittently into Stiles’ hair line. The extra fur Derek had grown was receding slowly and Stiles took advantage while he could, running fingers through the thick and gloriously soft fur on Derek’s pelvis. Stiles turned his head to meet Derek’s gaze and smiled dopily, utterly content in the moment. 

Derek traced under one of Stiles’ eyes with a finger, the touch soft and loving. “You seem different, more like your old self. Feeling better?”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow, not really wanting to speak about his supposed attitude of late, but his smile remained. “I feel really good. You?”

Derek stretched. “Yeah. We could walk home now.”

Stiles turned thoughtful. “Or we could fuck around some more.” Just the idea of it made his skin prickle and he nosed at Derek’s face. “You could shift and fuck me. Would you like that?” He hadn’t meant to push this, content with it staying a fantasy, but now he knew how Derek felt …

“What?”

“Come on, Der, we’ve both admitted we’re into it, so have at me.” Stiles rolled onto his back, his heart beating faster in anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

Derek sat up, pulling Stiles’ borrowed shirt closer around himself. “I don’t think so.”

Getting up on his knees, Stiles implored, “But why not? We both want it.” Leaning forward into Derek’s personal space, he looked up from under his lashes. “I’ll let you mount me. Fuck me.” He paused for effect. “Breed me.” 

Derek’s eyes flashed. A hint of claw was visible as he scooted back. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

Stiles pouted. “I’m working on it being you.” 

“God, Stiles, don’t tempt me.”

“That’s exactly what I want to do, Der. Want to temp you so bad you have no choice but to take me.” Stiles crept towards Derek on hands and knees, swaying his ass. “Do you want me to tell you about the nights I was up in the sycamore tree, thinking about you? I thought about what it would be like: you having your wolfy way with me. Some nights I didn’t sleep at all for wanting it. I was a sticky mess by the mornings and I didn’t care, I wanted you so much and my hands were never enough.”

Derek screwed his eyes shut, nostrils flaring. The muscles in his neck corded as his shoulders bunched up.

“We could do that,” Stiles spoke softly, weaving a web, coaxing and pleading. “I’ll get myself wet for you, lube myself up till I’m dripping. You’ll sink in deep so fast.” His nose bumped along Derek’s jaw, his mouth following with little brushes of kisses, interspersed with his whisperings. “Will you fuck me hard and fast like a dog in rut? Or will you hold back, make sweet love to me while your wolf dick learns my body all over again?”

Derek whimpered, and Stiles moved his mouth away so Derek wouldn’t feel his smug smile. 

“You want it, don’t you, Der? I’ll give it to you. Let you do anything and everything. I’m yours to take. To fuck. Please, have me.” The last part came out in a whine and Stiles leant into Derek’s neck, wanting to bite, wanting to be bitten. 

Harsh hands pushed him back and he protested, making an absolutely pitiful noise of pleading and scrambling to get back into Derek’s personal space. Derek’s growl was both a warning and desperate wanting; his fingers grasping at the muscle in Stiles’ shoulders, flexing and digging in, making Stiles want to feel claws. 

The need to show his belly and present at the same time was mind blowing and he didn’t know which way to turn to achieve both, so Stiles rose on his knees with his neck arched, his claiming mark clear to see, a soft keening rising from the back of his throat. He swayed forward, hips trying to touch, dick a hard line up against his stomach, framed by his open jeans. 

“Stiles,” came from between clenched fangs as finally, finally, Derek’s control snapped and he crowded into him, sniffing up into Stiles’ hair and grabbing his ass, hoisting him close.

Laughing in delight as fur grew, Stiles was tumbled over by Derek in his new huge wolf form. He wanted his jeans gone, needed them gone. He needed Derek inside him. His fingers were all thumbs and he couldn’t push the material down fast enough.

Suddenly the lovely weight hampering his movements disappeared and Derek was crouched on the ground a good distance away, snarling and clacking his teeth as he snapped his jaws. Saliva flew as he drew back his gums in warning.

Stiles sat up. “It’s okay, Der, nothing’s wrong. It’s supposed to happen this way.” His magic had showed him the truth of it. 

With jerking movements, Derek turned and ran, disappearing into the pines, swallowed by the darkness.

“No! Derek, come back!” 

Stiles scrambled to get to his feet, doing up his jeans carefully as he rushed after his wolf, their claiming bond making sure he was running in the right direction. He smiled grimly as he ran, hoping there’d be a quick chase, something to get the blood pumping even further and then he’d catch Derek and things would sort themselves out.

But Derek somehow managed to elude him. Stiles couldn’t catch up even though he was the faster runner, only managing to get glimpses of tail or the flash of an eye through the darkness. He had no idea how long he ran, chasing Derek through the pines. 

At one point Stiles tracked him to the cabin and it looked like Derek had changed back to human form, entering his home for some reason, but then paw prints led away and Stiles followed.

They ran in circles, traversing the frozen river near Derek’s cabin more than a few times. Derek had fallen through in one place, causing Stiles heart palpitations upon finding the cracked hole, but scrambling marks and paw prints on the bank had him sighing in relief.

Hours later though, and he was beyond pissed off. 

The magic was only going to keep building, pushing them towards each other. If they fought it too long they’d end up practically mindless with need. There wasn’t any reason for it to go that way, they could be screwing each other silly and enjoying it, giving the magic what it needed. This was just stupid.

It was coming on morning, the dawn casting rays through the trees and the birds of Winter starting their early morning songs, piercing the cold quiet air with sharp trilling. Derek had changed direction yet again and seemed to be going towards Scott’s house. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Stiles muttered. 

They didn’t need Scott sticking his big fat secret-telling nose in their business. Stiles looked up at the sky and grinned wide as he stepped into a patch of sunlight. 

“Gotcha, Derek,” he stated, before disappearing.

***

Stiles knew he’d arrived in front of where Derek was heading, even if he couldn’t see him. By the way he sensed Derek slow down, he’d felt it as well.

“Stop being an idiot, Derek!” Stiles yelled, his voice falling into silence as thick as the snow beneath his feet. Everything was still. There was no wind, no creaking of branches, no bird calls. The preserve seemed to be listening. “We just need to talk!” he called again. “I’m tired, Der! Don’t make me chase you until one of us passes out! Please just talk to me!”

There was no answer that he heard, but Stiles felt Derek start up his stealthy creeping again. 

Sitting down on a small tree that had fallen at an angle against a large boulder, Stiles ignored the urge to keep chasing. He was so done. Derek could run until his legs collapsed, but Stiles was finished. 

When he opened his eyes next, he’d slipped down the tree trunk until he was lying along its length, slumped in the snow. He sat up slowly, looking around.

Growing among large boulders tumbled from a nearby mountain, the trees were sparse and bare, with long white strokes of ice lying along their horizontal branches. Sunlight was bouncing off the snow on the ground as smudges of clouds dissipated quickly in a high wind.

A noise came from around the mountain, the trudging of footsteps, and Stiles stood up in one fluid motion, snow clinging to his jeans and feet. About to twist illusions around himself, he heard his name being called and realized who it was. Wary disappointment filled him and only perverse curiosity stopped him from leaving, at least until he found out why Scott was tracking him.

Scott waved as soon as he saw him. 

Ignoring the gesture, Stiles waited. He supposed Scott telling Argent he was fae wasn’t such a big deal in itself but an underlying trust had been broken and a friendly wave wasn’t going to cut it.

Moving faster now he’d seen Stiles, Scott sunk up to his crotch in a snow drift and cursed as he floundered though it. 

Derek must have gotten in contact with Scott at some point, most likely when he’d stopped by the cabin during their chase. Stiles wondered what had been said. Anything truthful would have been incredibly awkward and somewhat embarrassing. Perhaps something along the lines of: ‘Hey, I need your help to stop from screwing my pair bonded as a gigantic wolf, can you tie me down and make sure he doesn’t ride my big wolf dick?’ 

Or perhaps not.

“Stiles,” Scott greeted. “I’ve been looking for you. How’re you going?” He was using his gentle understanding tone and it felt a little forced to Stiles, but two could play that game.

Putting on a friendly expression, Stiles smiled a smile he didn’t feel. “I’m good. You?” 

Scott paused, possibly noticing the edge in tone Stiles was unable to fully hide. Stiles wanted to tell him to go suck it.

“Derek called me.”

“I assumed so.” 

There was an uncomfortable pause on Scott’s part while Stiles’ grim amusement only grew.

Scott looked down at the snow below his boots then his eyes tracked across the ground, fixing on Stiles’ toes then following up his wet jeans to linger on his bare chest and finally to his face. For all his talk about being okay with Stiles, every now and then the lie was obvious. Everything, from the set of his shoulders to his pursed lips, highlighted how discomforted he was. 

A spike of anger hit Stiles, coupled with an almost overwhelming urge to lash out. Why had Scott come all this way? He wouldn’t do it for Stiles’ benefit, not even if Derek asked him to.

“Chris also called me,” Scott said, as if he’d heard Stiles’ thoughts. 

That explained it. Argent must have given him a heads up that Stiles hadn’t taken their tete-e-tete too well and now Scott was making sure Stiles wasn’t a danger to anyone. The True Alpha couldn’t have that. As always, Scott’s reasons for doing something were all about Scott.

“I just wanted to apologize for not telling you what was going on. I knew we should have but Derek said it was the best way to keep you safe.”

“I know.” 

“And you’re okay with that? You’re not mad?” Scott looked so hopeful. 

Stiles would enjoy breaking that hope. He screwed his face up as if in thought. “Nah. You guys stuffed up but it happens. Just like telling Argent what I am. That happened. Apparently.” 

A flicker of movement off to the side caught Stiles’ attention but he didn’t react. Someone was moving slowly and silently down the hill under cover of the bushes and boulders.

“Stiles,” Scott began, sounding so earnest Stiles had to resist the urge to punch him. “I told Chris because he needed to know.”

“So he could decide if he wanted to kill me. Nice move, Scott. And thank you, I needed someone else to think they had the right to take my life, it’s been so boring without that worry.” 

Scott blinked. “No! It was so he could help protect you.”

“You believe that?” Stiles shook his head, a condescending smile playing on his mouth. “You’re too trusting. But you always have been. With other people.”

“Better to be a cynic with underlying threatening behavior, then?” Scott countered, then sighed. “I didn’t come here to fight, dude. There’s about to be a whole lot of crap coming down on us and I just wanted you to know I’ve got your back.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Stiles replied cuttingly. “Knowing that my best friend will do his utmost to keep me safe.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You are pissed at me.”

“Nooo,” Stiles jeered. He started walking nonchalantly away from Scott, who’s eyes opened in slight alarm, towards the direction the flicker of movement had been in. “What more could I need, really? I have a friend who goes behind my back and tells a secret to a hunter who may use it to try to kill me.” With fae speed, Stiles reached behind a particular bush and dragged Liam up from where he was crouching. “And now has his beta spying on me. I mean, why would I be pissed at you, Scott?” 

Liam stumbled when Stiles shoved him away, then whirled around, his eyes shining yellow. “He’s only done all that because he’s worried about you, you asshole!”

“Liam, don’t,” Scott warned. 

“No, Liam, do,” Stiles taunted, finding the teenager entertaining. “Tell me why Scott’s so worried. Because it seems like everyone has issues with me lately. You may as well join the club.”

Liam sneered at him. “You’ve become a Grade A prick, Stiles! You’ve got your head so far up your own ass you have no idea how hard everyone’s been working to help you! And now the poor little fae’s got himself some hunters after him and needs everyone to make sure he’s safe! We put our necks on the line while you remain ignorant and then you give Scott shit about it! You suck, Stiles! You suck balls!”

Stiles laughed. He could blame what he did next on Liam pissing him off but the fact was, he felt fine. He just felt like doing it, so he did.

He was in Liam’s face so suddenly that the young teen blanched, which is all he had time to do before Stiles’ fist connected with his stomach. Liam doubled over, possibly more in shock than pain as Stiles hadn’t used a lot of strength, choosing just to wind him instead of rupturing anything and ending the fight before it even began. 

Gearing up for another blow, Stiles smiled, liking the sight of Liam below him because he’d put him there. A hand on his arm surprised him, and Scott was able to turn Stiles away from Liam before blowing something into his face. 

Stiles breathed in with surprise and stumbled back from the powder cloud, waving his hands around and coughing. He looked at the bright blue dust covering his skin, knowing what it was, and blinked at Scott. 

Between one blink and the next, the ground seemed closer than it had been before and Stiles grabbed at it to try to stop it rolling underneath him. “Scott?” he asked plaintively, listing sideways as the earth shifted once more. When they’d been shown the blue powder by Deaton, Stiles had known it wasn’t going to be a good thing. He’d been skeptical and worried about its potential uses. But he’d never assumed it would be used on him.

Scott looked upset. “You gave me no choice.” He motioned for Liam to grab Stiles by the arm. “Don’t inhale the dust.”

Liam groused, “I know, I’m not an idiot!”

Stiles hissed at him, sharp fae teeth against his lips. “Fuck off, Liam!”

Liam stared defiantly back and rolled his eyes. “Or what? You can’t do anything.”

The ground under Stiles' cheek was moist and wet. It was too spongy to get any purchase and his hands seemed to fall into holes that hadn’t been there a few seconds before, making him slip over the earth when he tried to get away. His head lolled forward on his neck as Scott and Liam picked him up, each gripping an arm. Everything had a haze about it, like Stiles was sleeping yet awake at the same time.

“Fuck, how can someone his height weigh nothing?” Liam exclaimed. “I could carry him myself.”

“Be my guest,” Scott answered, being far more gentle with his man-handling than Liam. “He’s been loosing weight again. You can count his ribs, see? I noticed before.” 

“There’s nothing to loose! If he didn’t have muscle, he’d be a shadow!” 

They started walking, pulling Stiles between them quickly and efficiently, his feet dragging behind. His vision swam and Stiles hoped when he threw up it was over the both of them. He groaned his displeasure and the forward motion stopped.

“Stiles?” Scott queried.

Stiles managed to speak. “F…kkk ooo.”

“Right back at you,” Liam retorted. He spoke to Scott over Stiles’ limp body. “I say we dose him again. Didn’t Deaton say the powder would put any supernatural right out?”

“Maybe he reacts to it differently,” Scott replied. “I don’t know.” 

Suddenly Stiles hit the ground on one side, held up only by Scott, who lowered him far more gently. 

“Liam!” Scott admonished.

“This is going to take too long!” Liam complained. “Seriously, if we’re going to do this can we at least move faster? I’m starving and I haven’t had breakfast. You may not have classes to attend but you gotta remember how it sucked doing suicide runs on an empty stomach.”

“Fine,” Scott agreed. Through slitted eyes Stiles watched him run a hand through his hair while he thought. “Okay, you go. I’ve got him.”

“You sure?”

A sad look crossed his face as Scott nodded. “Yeah. He’s so light I can carry him to my house with little effort.”

“What if he wakes up further?”

Scott dropped down near Stiles and looked at him closely. Stiles tried to glare back at him. “I don't think that will happen. He's completely awake right now, just unable to move.” Scott waggled his fingers near Stiles’ eyes, making Stiles want to bite him. “Or focus.”

“Seriously?” Liam exclaimed with grudging admiration. “When we experimented it knocked both of us out. He has to be wicked strong to fight the effects.”

“Maybe his magic helps him.” Scott was still looking down at Stiles, worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting he has magic.” Liam gave Stiles a considered look. “He never uses it around us. Why’s that, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what he can do, not really,” Scott admitted. “He’s never told me.”

Liam snorted. “Remind me again why we’re helping him?”

Scott frowned up at him. “Because he’s my best friend and he’s in trouble.”

“Seems to me he’s always in trouble.” Liam sighed the sigh of the long suffering. “Well, if we’re going, we’d better go.”

Stiles was lifted in a fireman’s hold and found himself lying over Liam’s shoulder. Their height difference meant his face was hanging entirely too close to Liam’s ass. Closing his eyes as Liam started to jog, Stiles grunted involuntarily at each second step, his lower stomach digging into Liam’s shoulder blade.

Scott jogged alongside. “Weren’t you going to school?” 

Liam sped up, Scott keeping pace with ease. “It’s not like I can leave you here with him if he’s awake. He could hurt you.”

“Stiles would never hurt me,” Scott said confidently.

“Sure, the old Stiles wouldn’t, but new Stiles?” Liam scoffed. “The one who looks at everyone as if working out the best place to hide their bodies? The one who just punched me? He’d hurt you in a heart beat, I bet. But hey, tell me you don’t agree and I’ll leave right now.” There was silence from Scott, and Liam snorted. “’S’what I thought.”

“It’s not like that, Liam. It’s complicated.”

“You can’t even convince yourself,” Liam scolded. “Admit it, new Stiles is dangerous to our health. It’s just a matter of time.”

Stiles wished he’d hit Liam with a lot more force. Also, it seemed they’d forgotten he could still hear. But they were idiots, so it wasn’t surprising.

The sun flashed over Stiles’ back as they moved through patches of alternating shade and open sky. With the blood rushing to his head and making him feel faint, he missed when they slid down an embankment. A face full of snow woke him up somewhat.

Liam snickered, and Stiles decided next time he’d break his nose. 

At the bottom of the slope they moved into a slow jog and Scott started talking again. “I’ll admit Stiles has changed and it’s not all good. But I have to believe he’ll get better. I can’t just stop being there for him, I’ve done that in the past and it didn’t work out well for us.”

“Yeah, well, that’s assuming it’s something he can get better from and it’s not just who he is now,” Liam pointed out. “Maybe all fae are bastards and it comes with the territory.” 

“Not all werewolves are the same.” 

Liam didn’t answer, busy speeding up as they got to an incline. They breasted it and ran along even ground. 

Stiles managed to lift his head, something neither Liam nor Scott noticed, allowing the blood to flow properly and giving him an immediate head rush when he dropped it back down. He got a few fingers wiggling on command and felt a grim satisfaction.

They ran for a few minutes more before Liam slowed down, Scott stopping with him. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles couldn’t hear anything, and went from cursing having to listen to them to wishing he had super ears.

“It’s Derek. Over here, Derek!” Scott called.

Liam put Stiles down gently this time as Derek came into view. Stiles’ heart started beating faster and all three wolves looked at him. Stupid super ears.

“What happened?” Derek knelt, immediately checking Stiles over. Seeing no injury, he looked up at Scott. “Well?” 

“We had to powder him,” Liam answered, sounding entirely too happy about it.

“You drugged him?!” 

“I had to, he attacked Liam,” Scott explained.

“What?” Derek scoffed. “Stiles would never hurt him, he says Liam’s an ‘adorable little puppy with cranky face’.”

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed silently. He hadn’t thought of Liam in that way for ages. He was really nothing but an interfering childish little shit.

Liam spluttered in shock. “He thinks what?!”

“Liam, not now,” Scott interrupted. “Stiles punched him, Derek, and I didn’t know how far he was going to go. Normally I wouldn’t have been so concerned but you’ve seen how he’s been, we all have. Even his dad’s asking me what’s wrong with him.”

“Was he provoked?”

Scott considered his answer. “Liam was saying some things that could have gotten him riled. But Derek, he wasn’t angry.”

“Could have fooled me,” Liam scoffed. “If I’d been human, he would have broken a rib.”

“You didn’t see his face right after he hit you,” Scott argued. “He was having fun. It wasn’t right, Derek. If you’d been there you’d understand what I was talking about. What it reminded me of.” 

Derek’s hand tightened over Stiles’ wrist. “So you dosed him up, knocked him out and were doing what with him?” He smoothed his thumb over the top of Stiles’ hand in a gentle repetitive motion. Stiles wondered who it was supposed to comfort more.

“We were going back to Scott’s,” Liam replied.

“What were you going to do with him then? Tie him up?” 

“It wasn’t planned, Derek,” Scott argued. “I didn’t put the powder in my pocket to use on him. It was there from when I was at the clinic with Deaton yesterday. I’m sorry I had to do it at all. And I wouldn’t have tied him up, I would have let him rest. What he did after it’s effects wore off would have been up to him. It still is.”

“I would have tied him up, gagged him, too,” Liam offered. “He doesn’t deserve our help. He’s being a shit-head.”

“Liam, go to school,” Scott sighed.

“Yes, Sir, Drill Sargent, Sir!” Liam mock saluted and turned to jog away. He called back over his shoulder, “If I’m late, I’m blaming you!”

“Run faster, then!” Scott yelled back.

Liam pelted out of sight.

“Mouthy beta,” Derek observed. “Seems to be a theme in Beacon Hills.”

Scott sent him a wry smile. “He’s just worried. Stiles is like a big brother to him. Was like a big brother. Is.” He gave up and sighed again. “When did everything connected to Stiles get so damn complicated?”

“It probably always was.” Derek looked down, seeing Stiles watching him. “We just didn’t realize it because everything around us was complicated, too.”

“But it focuses on him now like he’s an epicenter for trouble.”

Stiles was tired of this. “You finished discussing me like I’m not here?” 

Both Scott and Derek jumped a little in surprise. 

“You heard all that?”

“Stoned, Scott, not deaf.” Stiles sat up slowly as the powder’s effects drifted away. Sunlight was awesome. The powder was gone from his skin when he swiped his face to check. 

Scott looked concerned but Stiles had no desire to hear the whiney excuses for his and Liam’s bitch-a-thon. If Scott didn’t want him to overhear what he really thought, he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Oh.” Scott’s frown deepened. “When Liam and I were talking, I didn’t mean —”

“Sure, whatever,” Stiles interrupted. “Nothing you said was shocking, so just forget about it.” 

Stiles himself wasn’t going to forget anything that had happened but he also knew if he gave Scott even the slightest escape route, a way to ignore any hurt he may have caused, he’d take it with both hands. Everything was, after all, all about Scott.

Scott blew out a quick breath. “Oh. Okay, then. Good.” 

He was also nothing if not predictable. How Stiles had put up with him in all their years of friendship was astounding. Medal worthy, even.

Scott looked between Derek and Stiles, his expression thoughtful now he wasn’t plagued with uncertainty. “I’m going to go.” Giving a half-wave and not waiting for a farewell that Stiles wasn’t going to supply, he followed the direction Liam had taken through the trees, jogging at first then speeding up.

“That wasn’t right,” Derek commented when Scott couldn’t been seen anymore.

Stiles shook imaginary blue powder off his pants. “Care to be more specific?”

“Shutting out Scott. It isn’t like you.”

“Pffft.” Stiles waved a hand. “Obviously you haven’t talked to my dad in a while. According to him, it’s all I do anymore.”

Derek looked at Stiles with sad eyes. “I wish I could stop whatever is going on with you.”

“God!” Stiles exclaimed and rubbed at his face. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Alright, we won’t. For now.” Derek held out his hand. “Come home with me?”

With everyone turning on him lately, Stiles had expected rejection. He eyed Derek warily. “You want me to?” 

“I always want you with me,” Derek huffed. “Even when you’re being insufferable.”

Stiles made a face yet couldn’t help but observe, “We’re a long way from where we started, aren’t we?”

“We were children and we’ve been through a lot,” Derek agreed. “We grew up.” He reached over and pulled Stiles into a hug.

“We’re not that much older, Der,” Stiles pointed out, returning the embrace. “It’s only been a few years.”

“Is that all? Feels like a thousand.”

Stiles wholeheartedly agreed. 

***


	4. The Druid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are said.

On their trek home through the preserve, Stiles admired Derek’s shoulders and how they filled out his jacket as he moved. This progressed down to admiring Derek’s ass and Stiles imagining his mouth on it, so it wasn’t his fault when Derek stopped suddenly and Stiles stumbled as he tried to stop from walking right into him.

Derek snickered lightly. “Listening now?”

Stiles scowled. “I was already.” He hadn’t been but that wasn’t the point.

Derek shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips as he continued walking. “As I was saying, I came to look for you as soon as the spell lost its hold on me.” The smile left his face. “That’s when I found you being carted off by Liam and Scott.” 

His stride gained length, causing Stiles to speed up so as to not be left behind. He knew Derek was thinking about what Scott had said. About him punching Liam and enjoying it. He should explain, tell Derek what had happened before he’d been Liam’s shoulder pet, but he couldn’t even deny it. He had liked it, liked seeing Liam folded over and speechless, liked that he had the power to make Liam hurt, if only for a few seconds. It could have hurt for a lot longer if he’d put effort behind the punch and he was still regretting not doing that.

“Where are you going?”

Stiles looked up to find Derek watching him. They’d been walking along a deer trail but he’d started to detour from it because the direction he wanted to go wasn’t towards the cabin where Derek was leading them. “Der, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not a spell, the thing that’s making you change. It’s the Nemeton.” Stiles looked away through the trees, chewing on his thumb.

Derek did a double take which was almost completely hidden behind lowering eyebrows. “This is one of those times where you’re going to have to explain everything. Right now.”

Stiles’ mouth twisted in discomfort, but this was what chasing Derek for hours had been about. “I worked it out last night. The Nemeton needs sacrifice to help it heal. Because I’m its protector but also pair bonded and claimed, it’s pulling at you to provide it. With me.”

“Sacrifice,” Derek repeated. “I’m pretty sure what I think that means is not where you’re going, because I don’t want to kill you when I’m like that. Far from it.”

Shaking his head, Stiles held up his hands. “No, no, not that kind of sacrifice. There’s many kinds, and they all require giving up something.”

“And in this case,” Derek mused, “it’s me, us … giving it sexual sacrifice?”

“In a nut shell, yeah. The energy from it, anyway.”

“The Nemeton wants me to have sex with you as a wolf??” Derek’s incredulity echoed out into the woods, his voice rising at the end.

Stiles winced and scratched at his chin. “I’m not too sure about that bit, actually. But the ‘urges’ are the sacrifice needing to be done.”

Derek tilted his head, his eyes narrowing even further. “Why is a sacrifice needed in the first place?”

Stiles was confused by the question. “Protecting the Nemeton requires more than just keeping it away from those who want to use it. It also means making sure the magic is balanced and no longer tainted. You know this already.”

“No, I don’t,” Derek argued. “You’ve never told me. What do you mean, no longer tainted?”

Somewhat annoyed, Stiles sighed. “You do know this, Derek. You’ve seen it in action with everything that keeps happening to our town. The Nemeton’s magic is corrupted, it’s dirty and messed up. There’s no balance. But our sacrifice will help to fix that.”

“By creating balance.”

Having to hold back a snarky reply, Stiles settled for a stilted, “Yes,” through gritted teeth.

“And you have no problem with the Nemeton deciding to take from us without our consent because, in the end, you believe it will help it to achieve magical balance?” 

Stiles glared at Derek. This was all perfectly logical and Derek having a snit about it wouldn’t change things.

“Jesus, Stiles. I’d suspected but never really realized …”

“What?”

“How much it’s controlling you.” Derek took a hesitant step towards him. “Can’t you see that none of this is okay? Forcing us to give to it like that and making you think it’s what you want? That’s not just sacrifice, Stiles, that’s coercion.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong. It needs to be healed, Derek. The Tree needs me to help it, it’s my job, and I’m failing!” Stiles’ eyes welled up in frustration and he rubbed at them harshly. “I’m the fae protector, Derek, this is what I’m supposed to do.” 

“You’re supposed to let the Nemeton decide how to use us to get what it wants?” 

“It’s what I want!” Stiles yelled at him, snapping. “I want the Tree to be healed, Derek! I’ve seen what it was like before it was cut down, I’ve felt the magic it had, how pure and joyous it was! I want that back! I don’t want the Tree to be like it is. This magic feels wrong, Der, it’s ugly and tainted and I have to change it!”

“It’s using you, Stiles. It’s using me!” 

“Only because I failed!” Stiles hid his face in his hands, frustration swinging into despair. “We need to do this, Der. I need to do this!” Arms wrapped around him, causing him to jerk in surprise, hands moving in slow circles on his back. 

Derek’s voice was measured when he asked, “Why is the tree able to get a hold on me?” 

Lowering his hands from his face, Stiles snaked his arms around Derek’s waist, pressing his forehead into Derek’s shoulder. “It got to you through me.”

“Couldn’t you tell from the beginning what was going on?”

Stiles shook his head minutely. “I only knew when my magic went looking inside you.”

“Inside me?” Derek stepped backwards, dropping his arms from around Stiles.

“When we were under the pines, my magic found the magic from the Nemeton. I don’t know why I couldn’t sense it before. It never occurred to me that it could pull on you in this way.”

“The pull,” Derek murmured. “That’s why you wanted me to shift, isn’t it? It overwhelmed you.” He sounded crushed. 

Stiles shook his head vehemently. “No! It doesn’t need to force me into anything. I told you, Der, I want you in every possible way. Don’t worry about it not being my choice, it totally is.” 

Derek touched the side of Stiles’ face, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and Stiles dared to hope he was believed. “I might not be that knowledgable about magic but if the sacrifice is without my consent, won’t it give the tree more negative energy?” 

“No, I’ll change the energy, clean it before it goes into the Tree. It’ll go through me.” Stiles was working out the logistics as he spoke. It made sense and he could do it. It was doable. He’d just prefer Derek was willing when it happened.

“The Tree wants to use you as a filter? Is that safe? You’re taking potentially damaging energy into yourself! Stiles, you can’t do this!”

“It’s taken from me before and no damage was done then!” Stiles defended hotly.

“Before??” Derek’s expression was verging into apocalyptic territory.

Bitting his bottom lip, Stiles looked away for a quick second towards the direction of the grove. “We should get going, come with me.”

“Stiles.” Derek pulled a face like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “When was the last time the Nemeton took our sexual energy? And don’t lie to me.”

“It hasn’t.”

Derek breathed in once, harshly. “I’m not playing around here, Stiles. Your word games won’t work. If not ours, when was the last time it took your energy?” Before Stiles could answer, or think of how to get out of answering, Derek’s eyes widened slightly. “Is this something it’s been doing regularly?” 

“No!” Stiles clutched at Derek’s jacket. He flinched at the distrust he picked up, but didn’t pull away. “I swear it, Der.” When Derek glared at him, he admitted, “It’s only been once. The day of the claiming.” 

A look of shocked understanding crossed Derek’s face. “Fuck. You were sick and you told me the Nemeton was acting up because of Brine.” He growled low, hands bunching into fists. “You didn’t tell me it was draining you!”

“It didn’t do it again, there was nothing to tell. And I’m fine.” There was a deep sadness coming from Derek now, a hopelessness that made Stiles ache inside. “I’m sorry, Der.”

“You’re sorry you didn’t tell me, didn’t think to tell me, or couldn’t tell me?”

Stiles wasn’t sure. Had he made the decision not to speak of it or had he forgotten? Had he not even thought to share what had occurred? He dropped his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

They stood silently, Stiles continuing to feel every warring emotion passing through Derek, refusing to back away from the hurt he’d inadvertently caused.

“You’re taking my emotions, aren’t you?” Derek guessed. “I can smell how conflicted you are and I can feel it through the claim. Stop it, you’re not fixing anything.”

Making a concentrated effort to pull back, Stiles locked his ability down tight. He was left feeling surprisingly dizzy and sagged slightly, his hands slipping off Derek’s jacket.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered, gathering Stiles into his arms once more. Stiles was surprised with how gently he was held. 

“I’m okay, Der. You’re okay, too. I told you all this so you wouldn’t worry.”

Derek laughed once and it was a bitter sound, better suited to how he'd expressed himself when Stiles first met him. “Things are so far from alright, Stiles. You can’t even see how wrong they are.”

Too tired to argue any further, Stiles lay his head against Derek’s neck, breathing in wolf and forest. The Nemeton’s magic pulsed inside him, calling. “Can you feel it?” he asked, smiling tentatively when Derek nodded slowly.

“This isn’t a good thing, Stiles. We need to fight this.”

“No, we don’t.” Stiles caught up Derek’s hands. “There’s nothing wrong, Der.” He started to pull Derek off the deer track. “Come on, my wolf. Come help me heal the Tree.”

“I don’t care about the damn tree, Stiles. I care about you,” Derek groused, but allowed Stiles to pull him along. 

Picking up the pace, Stiles started to feel giddy with anticipation. This was finally going to happen. He was going to help the Tree and it was going to be awesome because he was doing it with Derek.

“I’m sorry about this, Stiles. Really, I am,” Derek said, with regret.

“What?” Stiles looked back. 

Derek stepped up close, his free hand held up to his mouth. When he opened his fingers, the blue pixie powder was sitting on his palm. Stiles frowned, mouth opening to ask what Derek was doing. In the same instant, Derek blew on the powder, sending it into Stiles’ face and making him choke.

Stumbling backwards while hacking up blue-tinted phlegm, Stiles fell heavily into the snow. He looked up at the sky and Derek’s shattered face, blinking the powder from his eyelashes as best he could. The shock of another betrayal dug at him. 

As before, a blanket of darkness beckoned, but Stiles didn’t fight it this time. He let go. 

***

Stiles was slumped on Derek’s sofa in front of the fireplace, no longer half-naked. He eyed himself with some difficulty as he was unable to lift his head, and found he was wearing one of the hoodies he kept in a drawer in Derek’s bedroom. It was one of his softest, used for lying around in his more sloth-like moments. His jeans had also been changed and were no longer the wet and dirty pair from the preserve. He flexed his toes to find he was wearing socks, and waggled his jaw. His tongue and mouth felt normal enough, which was good. He’d be able to give Derek a piece of his mind. 

There were voices behind him, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Too busy arguing, they hadn’t noticed he’d woken up. Stiles listened carefully, identifying Derek, his dad and Scott. 

Something brushed against Stiles’ cheek and he startled internally, his body unable to flail in normal response. Derek was standing above him. Time seemed to have skipped forward strangely because Derek had just been in the kitchen and Stiles hadn’t heard his approach. 

He glared up at his wolf. “You fucking bastard.” He projected as much venom as he could, hating how his voice cracked and faltered. 

Derek’s face fell. He leant over and softly wiped under Stiles’ eye, brushing at a wetness Stiles hadn’t realized was there. 

He snarled, wanting to be able to move his head away. “Touch me again and I’ll bite your fingers off.”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other before Derek’s eyes shuttered and he moved over to join Scott and Stiles’ dad at the end of the sofa. They were both obviously dismayed by what they’d just witnessed, Scott even going so far as to put a consoling hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

All they needed was a few more of the gang and Stiles’ de ja vu would be complete. Everyone standing around, wondering what to do with the bad thing before them. 

“When’s Deaton getting here?” he asked, smirking when surprise showed on their faces. Really, they should have known he’d guess. It’s the way they rolled, falling back on the druid’s questionable expertise because they were all too stupid to work things out themselves.

His dad answered, looking rumpled and determined. He wasn’t in uniform so it seemed they’d caught him on his down-time. “He’ll be here in a hour or so. We’ll fix you then.”

Stiles winked at him. “Here’s hoping, right?” he bit out scathingly. “Wake me up when the bastard arrives, would you?” 

Without waiting for a reply, Stiles closed his eyes, hoping when he next woke the paralysis would be gone. Playing for time would only get him so far and he had no idea what to do next. He forced himself to breathe slowly and within seconds was fast asleep.

***

Feeling a hand on his arm, Stiles opened his eyes to see Scott sitting by his side. He immediately tried to move his body but was still unable to. Looking at the windows he noticed all the blinds had been shut. The light that came through wasn’t near enough to help him burn away the powder’s effects. 

“Clever little back-stabbing wolf,” Stiles admonished quietly, eyeing Derek where he stood leaning against the fireplace. 

Derek’s shoulders hunched up, but it was Stiles who couldn’t maintain his composure as they looked at each other; a profound sense of loss threatening to undo him. He had to look away.

Deaton was talking to his dad near the front door. 

With effort, Stiles managed to tip his head to watch from a better angle. “So, the doctor’s in,” he mused. “What now? Mediation? Intervention? Medication? Sedation?” He grinned darkly at Scott. “Oh, wait, we’ve done that one already.” 

When Scott remained silent, Stiles rolled his head back towards Derek. “How about you, big guy? Going to tell me how this is for my own good because something’s disturbingly wrong and you’re all doing your best to fix poor little broken me?” 

Derek said nothing either, though his eyes shone suspiciously. 

“Come on, Der,” Stiles coaxed. “You’re not going to get weepy on me now, are you? After all, you’re not the one who was betrayed by the person they’re claimed and pair bonded to.”

Scott sucked in a shocked breath as Derek stiffened. Stiles felt a hollow victory. 

Shooting Derek a look, Scott hissed out, “You’re claimed?!” He leant in closer to Stiles, his eyes darting over to the front door. “You didn’t tell me!”

Stiles chuckled in disbelief. “Why would I? Everything I tell you, you use against me.”

“God, stop it, Stiles!” Scott held up his hands. “This isn’t you.” 

Stiles laughed hollowly, hating how everyone told him that. “Don’t worry, Scotty, you’ll fix everything. Don’t you always? No matter what anyone else says, Scott knows what’s right and what’s wrong. Woe betide anyone who doesn’t measure up.”

Scott looked at him, bewildered and hurt. His emotional upset tasted so fine to Stiles, effervescent candy popping on his tongue. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”

“You think a lot of things, Scott, but that doesn’t make you smart.”

“That’s quite enough,” Deaton admonished, coming to stand near the end of the sofa. “Ignore him,” he told Scott. “You’ve heard him mouth off before. He’s in a compromised position, it’s to be expected.” 

Stiles swore he could detect hidden mirth behind Deaton’s professionally bland expression. Here was a druid with a fae at his disposal. He must have been salivating inside. “Enjoying yourself, druid?”

“Of course, Stiles,” Deaton answered with mild sarcasm. “I always find it entertaining when someone I care about is in need of my help.” Putting his medical bag down on the side table, he opened it up and pulled out a bunch of plants tied together with twine. 

Stiles lapsed into watchful silence. 

Deaton took out a second bunch of dried plants, along with a cigarette lighter and a small brown bottle. He indicated to the first bundle. “This is thyme. It’s used for many different magical purposes, one being it can help in communication with fae. It will be burned in order to help you tell the truth.”

Stiles hadn’t known there was a plant which could do that. His assuredness that this whole thing was a waste of time started to trickle away. “Why do you need me to do that?”

“We’ve tried to talk with you,” Scott explained. “Numerous times. You shut us down.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in disbelief. When had Scott tried to talk to him about anything? All he recalled was Scott’s disapproval of everything he did or said. Even now that’s what he was doing. 

His dad nodded. “Don’t even try to deny it. It’s true.”

As he’d just had a talk with his dad yesterday, Stiles could only gape at what he was hearing. One of his hands flinched in unconscious agitation. Everyone stared at it, himself included. He curled his fingers slightly. “Going to make me inhale more powder? I’m only saying, because my middle finger may want to flip you all off when it gets more dexterous. You should be worried.”

His dad sighed, but Scott spoke up first. “We’re doing this so we can talk with you. Really talk, without having all the fae crap stuffing things up.”

“Fae crap,” Stiles repeated. 

Scott nodded as if he hadn’t just confirmed how little he regarded who Stiles was.

Eyes tracking over everyone, Stiles mulled things over. He really was stuck. But hey, they wanted to talk? He’d be polite to the point of banality. He smiled with fake pleasantness. “What is it you want to talk about?”

Scott visibly relaxed and Stiles wanted to shake him for being so darn easy to fool. “I want you to tell me what’s going on with you. Why are you so angry all the time?” 

“I’m curious,” Stiles said, still pleasant, “why you think I’d tell you.”

“What?”

Screw polite. It only got someone so far and Stiles couldn’t even move off the damn sofa. “If something was wrong, as everyone is so sure there is, why would I tell you? Why would I do such a stupid thing?”

Scott completely missed the barb. “Because we’re best buds and I want to help you.”

“Best buds,” Stiles mused. “What does that mean to you? Other than giving you the right to be a condescending prick who steps on our friendship? Maybe I’m angry because my ‘best bud’ broke my trust, again, and I’m not sure I want to give him the opportunity to win it back.”

Scott’s face screwed up. “But, no … I —”

“You can shove your self-righteous intentions, Scott. Or better yet, come a bit closer and I’ll do it for you.”

Scott sat with his mouth hanging open. His shock was thick and viscous with hurt and Stiles reveled in it, wanting to dig deeper and tear the wound open until Scott bled a river of pain. Standing up, Scott moved away, and Stiles smirked in vindication. One down.

“I’m beginning to see what you meant when you phoned me, Derek,” Deaton commented. “Stiles, your father mentioned you wanted to tell him something yesterday. The herbs will help to calm and centre your magic, stop any outside influences and let you speak freely. From what I just saw, I’m certain it’s in your best interest to allow me to administer them.”

“What, you’re not just going to do it anyway?”

“Not this time.”

“Okay, you can do it,” Stiles agreed. 

After a moment of shock, everyone took a deep collective sigh of relief. 

Stiles snickered and added with a fair amount of amusement, “You can do it, if you answer me truthfully.”

Deaton paused, holding the lighter in one hand and the bunch of thyme in the other. “What is the question?”

Wishing he could lift a hand to waggle a finger in Deaton's direction, Stiles brought him up short. “That’s not how this works. Your herbs are going to put me at a disadvantage. I want the same thing from you. Give me what you don’t want to give: your truth for my truth.”

Deaton nodded slowly. “Ask, and I will answer.”

There were a lot of things Stiles wanted to know; questions within questions. But the one that came to mind was the one he’d had the longest. He thought about the wooden balls made from Nemeton wood, one of which he’d stollen from Deaton, the other given to him as a present from Derek. They perplexed him to a great degree as he was certain they could do more than just locate other pieces of Nemeton wood, but he’d been unable to work out what. 

“Why’d you make the spheres?”

Deaton’s face remained passive but Stiles picked up a sharp tone of sadness and regret. “I had time to think through my actions …”

With a subtlety created from weeks of using his fox ability, Stiles dug underneath the uppermost flow of Deaton’s emotions. He blinked when he stumbled on it: the unmistakable clear crispness of truth. It was reminiscent of biting into something with hard corners. 

“… I began to see how wrong I’d been, as I have told you before. I couldn’t undo the Tree’s felling, but I …” Deaton trailed off, still reluctant but now also uneasy. “Part of a druid’s training is to be open to prophetic dreams. I’m adept at receiving them but for the most part they are confusing, making almost no sense until they play out. That is the nature of a fluid future. I began to dream of a yearning for something lost. It took a while before I realized the Nemeton was calling for its own, to be whole once more. The dreams plagued me during a period of personal flux, one that stretched my beliefs and confounded more than enlightened. The creation of the spheres was done in a desperate hope to rid me of them.”

It wasn’t surprising to Stiles to find the only help Deaton had given the Tree was done out of a purely selfish desire. “I have another question for you,” he announced.

“You’ve had your one question.”

Stiles smiled but it was a brittle thing. “It won’t harm you too much to answer. And there are three herbs, so three questions.”

Deaton’s emotions gained a distressed note which ran through Stiles like a sugar rush. “That seems unfairly balanced in your favor.” 

“Trust, druid,” Stiles reminded him. 

That didn’t make Deaton feel any better. He sat there, frowning and uncomfortable, so Stiles offered unhelpfully, “Choose the herb you want to use most, then.”

“They’re all needed,” Deaton said, his annoyance having a round buttery taste.

He looked over at the others, all of whom made gestures for him to go ahead. The fact they were okay with the druid being their voice was astounding to Stiles. Even his dad was deferring. Could they not see how dangerous the man was?

“Ask your two remaining questions,” Deaton begrudgingly offered.

Stiles tried to sit forward but was still contained by the powder’s effect on him. He settled for tapping his fingers on the sofa seat. “Why the pretense of you wanting to help me?” That hadn’t been the question he’d been meaning to ask but everyone needed to see they were being played.

“It isn’t an act.” Deaton was offended and it showed. He frowned heavily and his emotions were a delight of spiky shards. Stiles took a measure of comfort for having made him feel that way, even as it confused. “I honestly care what happens to you, though I understand why you don’t believe it. I have many reasons to help you. The main one is you’re a friend of Scott’s.” 

Stiles gave a snort of derision. 

Deaton ignored him. “That you’ve been friends most of your lives speaks of the person you are. Loyal and good. You have a keen mind and have much to offer the world if given help to overcome the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that plague you.”

The crispness of truth became unpalatable when mixed with Deaton’s sudden sympathy. Wanting to gag, Stiles withdrew his fox ability, shutting it down.

“You have one question left,” Deaton reminded him.

“Do you want me to lift the pact I have with you?” Stiles closed his eyes, berating himself. He had no desire of letting the druid out of their pact and had just thrown away his last question because Deaton had confused him, waylaid him with carefully chosen words. 

“You have a fae pact with Allan?” His dad folded his arms in disapproval, finally deciding to weigh in. “Stiles!”

Deaton also seemed to be perplexed, but for a different reason. He should have been jumping for joy. Stiles wanted to hear him beg for the pact to be gone. Then he’d refuse, having promised nothing.

“No, I don’t want to loose the pact,” Deaton decided.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open before he snapped it shut and scowled.

“Having it helps to gain your trust,” Deaton explained. “Though I would appreciate being able to speak freely in front of your father.”

Stiles shrugged as if Deaton’s request didn’t matter either way. It seemed fair enough as requests went and may even keep his dad mollified. So he held out his pinkie towards Deaton. It was a strange motion considering he couldn’t lift his arm very far but there was no mistaking it signified agreement.

“Stiles?” his dad queried, only to be shushed, amazingly, by Scott’s hand on his arm. 

Bending forward, Deaton held out his own finger, close to Stiles’ own. 

With only a slight hesitation, Stiles hooked them together. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his glamor completely. He heard exclamations echo around the room as he reached inside for the magical tag that was the pact between Deaton and himself. He let it unfold like a flower in the morning sunlight, before opening his eyes and looking upon Deaton with fae sight. 

“I agree to amend the pact between us to include my father as one of the people to whom you can speak freely with about myself in regards to things pertaining to the fae,” he intoned formally. “Do you agree?”

The pact shivered, ready to change.

Staring at Stiles’ face with a strange sort of wonder, Deaton said, “I agree to the amendment,” then gasped at the feel of Stiles’ magic tweaking the pact. 

Stiles had been curious how he would accomplish the changes, knowing it was possible but not the logistics. It seemed to be like most of his magic; instinctual, natural and based on his belief. When the changes were complete and the pact was no longer required to be malleable, it folded back up, tight and secure.

Settling further into the sofa, Stiles realized he was capable of more movement than before. It seemed the powder’s effects were finally wearing off.

“Your skin,” Derek remarked, pointing to Stiles’ arms. 

Looking down, Stiles found the color of his skin swirling around like clouds; dark and light smearing and wrapping around his arms and fingers in a slow dance. He’d seen a similar effect on his fae creator, its skin reflecting the nature it held inside of itself. His heart rate kicked up a notch and he quickly pulled his glamor back on, doing his best to appear unaffected though it was probably too late.

“I take it that hasn’t happened before?” Deaton queried mildly. 

From over by the fireplace, Derek grunted in frustration, probably wishing he didn’t have his own pact stopping him from telling secrets. He’d seen the fae and would have made the same connection Stiles had. But Derek hadn’t worked out the most important thing, which pained Stiles because it meant he didn’t understand; their pact would never be used. Derek could step all over it and there’d be no reprisal. 

Derek gave Stiles a dark look and to hide his hurt, Stiles smirked back at him.

Deaton watched their interaction carefully. “Derek, you seem to know a lot more than you’re saying. Why is that?” 

Running a hand over his face, Derek growled softly. 

Deaton nodded. “You can’t, can you? You’ve got a pact with Stiles, too.”

Stiles’ dad exploded. “Stiles! You can’t go around making people obey you like you’re their master! I’m shocked you’ve done it to Deaton, but Derek? How could you?”

Stiles could explain it had been done at a time when he’d no idea what had been happening and that he’d remove it, if asked. He could tell his dad and hope to be believed, but his dad’s record for that wasn’t stellar. And anyway, he was pissed at Derek for knocking him out with pixie powder.

“You’ve changed, son. More than I thought. It pains me to see it.”

His dad’s admission dug into him with claws, making Stiles grind his teeth in anger. “Stop having expectations, then,” he spat out. “No chance for disappointment.” Turning his head away, he clenched his hands into fists, wishing he could move enough to leave. 

***

For the next half hour, Deaton had Stiles breathe in smoke from the two bunches of herbs which smoldered slowly after being lit. He called them ‘smudge sticks’ and Stiles remembered reading about them in connection to witches. He didn’t see how witch practices would help a druid with a fae, but let it go as Deaton spoke about lemon balm calming his heart and protecting his mind from any outside stimuli. 

Deaton also placed one small drop of oil from the little brown bottle on Stiles’ upper lip. It had a strong but pleasant smell, reminding him of Lydia’s cough drops. Deaton named it eucalyptus and explained how it was supposed to help with emotional healing. 

The penetrating smoke curled around everything, getting in Stiles’ eyes and lungs. After a while, he started to nod off. 

“Stiles?” Deaton called his name. 

Raising his head slowly, Stiles was surprised to find two Deatons sitting in front of him. They merged into one when he blinked. He hadn’t thought the herbs would do anything; he’d obviously been really wrong. Blinking some more, he noticed the herbs on the plate smoking away, only when he looked at them this time he could see Deaton’s druid magic infused with them. Magic also coated the little brown bottle, giving it a shimmering shine. Was Stiles using fae sight? Is that why he could see the magic now when he couldn’t before? He couldn’t tell. 

His head fell forward. 

All of a sudden he was lying down. It was an incredibly comfy sofa and Stiles liked to cuddle on it with his wolf. “Derek?” he called out, hands making grabby motions from where they lay across his stomach. 

Two large warm hands clasped his and he sighed in relief as Derek sat on the edge of the sofa, thigh touching up against Stiles’ side. 

“We’re good, right? The stuff I said, I didn’t mean it, Der.” Tears started to slip down Stiles’ face as he held tighter to Derek’s hands. “My head hurts. Make it stop, please.” 

Derek looked like he wanted to hit something which made Stiles feel worse. He whimpered, at a loss as to how he could make his wolf feel better.

“It’s okay, Stiles, we’re okay. Shh, take a deep breath, breathe with me, in and out.” Derek exaggerated his breathing for Stiles to copy.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. “I’m tired,” he admitted as he closed his eyes. “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here,” Derek reassured him.

“What’s wrong with him?” his dad asked from above his head.

Deaton answered from near his shoulder. “It seems Stiles has a strong reaction to the herbs and oil. It shouldn’t have caused such extreme relaxation though, or pain, only a way for him to speak more freely. He’s obviously under more stress than we were aware of.”

“If he was any more stressed he’d vibrate out of his own skin!” Stiles’ dad huffed out. “And he’s always spoken too freely, Allan. It’s when you want him to talk that he shuts up. We just need whatever is controlling him to leave him the hell alone!”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.” 

Something cold brushed against Stiles’ upper lip. The smell of eucalyptus dimmed and he fluttered his eyes open to see Deaton moving back, a damp cloth held in one hand. 

Deaton saw him watching. “Better?” 

Stiles grunted an affirmative. 

“Stiles is run down, emotionally and physically,” Deaton surmised. “I should have taken that into consideration, though the physical side of it is surprising considering his healing ability should keep him relatively healthy with an ample diet. Could you open the windows, please, Scott? We need to dispel the smoke.”

While Scott went to do as asked, Stiles’ dad stood leaning over the druid, still waiting for an explanation. “Why is it when my son is involved, you constantly get things wrong?”

“I don’t have all the answers you seek, Sheriff. My methods can be more miss than hit and unfortunately with Stiles this seems to be the ongoing case. But misses have their own rewards at times.”

“Which are?”

“That we may see in a moment.” Deaton tapped out the burning herbs on the plate. “Sit him up please, Derek.”

Able to help a little as Derek pulled him upright, Stiles then leant against Derek’s side, snuggling into his warmth and wishing he had a blanket to curl up under. He closed his eyes once more as Derek put his arm around him and held him close. The pain in his head ebbed away.

“Stiles, I can see how very tired you are but I need you to stay awake for a bit longer,” Deaton entreated.

Focussing as well as he could, Stiles felt much calmer than he had in ages. His magic was at ease in the first time since forever. Nothing was wrong and he wanted it to stay that way.

“There’s some things we’d like to talk to you about,” Deaton persisted. “You indicated it would be alright, is that still the case?”

Humming, Stiles nodded into Derek’s shoulder.

“Are you sick?” Deaton asked, right off.

“No. Tired.” Stiles frowned at hearing himself answer truthfully. His mouth was rubbery, his tongue too thick, but words were coming out. He could feel them sitting there behind his teeth; all the things he couldn’t say, waiting to bubble over and consume him. Objectively, he knew he should be worried but the feeling smoothed over as soon as he felt it, soothing calm replacing any anxiety. It was nice.

“Why are you tired?”

Stiles thought for a moment. “I can’t do it, I’m not enough.” Rubbing clumsily at his chest, he waited for the stress to emerge when talking about his failure. It didn’t happen. His magic didn’t even twinge and he was used to everything inside him being full-throttle all the time, his emotions powering things along. Having quiet magic was a nice reprieve. 

There was nothing coming off Derek, either. Stiles tried, but his fox ability was at the bottom of his inner self, undisturbed under all the calm. 

His fingers rubbed along his hoodie and he looked down, paying particular attention to how soft his lovely, comfy clothing was. Derek had chosen so well. Stiles stroked the material and hummed in satisfaction at the tactile sensation going on under his palm. A hand on top of his, Derek’s hand, stopped him.

“Why aren’t you enough, Stiles?” Deaton asked again.

Sitting up straighter, a tiny sliver of unease fought its way up. Stiles wobbled a bit, still not in full control of his body, but Derek was there to lean on, smelling of the trees in the forest. Stiles wanted to be out there with him. The unease dropped back down and a blanket of calm settled over everything. There was no reason to worry. His magic was sleeping. Having a rest. Like Stiles needed. He could do that now. There was nothing pulling on him, nothing curling around in his brain, skittering over his skin. He was cocooned in wolf, his wolf. This was good. He was safe, cared for. Derek had him. Derek smelt so good.

“Stiles?” 

Someone was shaking him gently so he lifted his nose from out of Derek’s neck. “Hmm?”

“What is it you’re trying to achieve that you think you can’t do?” 

Deaton was still sitting across from him, his dad and Scott were hovering, and Derek was stopping him from slipping off the sofa and face planting onto the rug.

“Stiles?”

There were so many things to say in answer to Deaton’s question. Stiles wanted to heal the Tree. Be a competent fae. Understand his magic and abilities. Balance his fae and human life. Have a future that wouldn’t disappoint. Be a son his dad could be proud of. Be someone Scott didn’t look down on. Be enough for Derek. Be worthy of Derek. Stiles wanted to overshare and say them all, as each one was important. But his mouth went with the one that was easiest to get out and which tied them all together. 

“Be the good guy. I’m not a good guy.” 

His dad made a distressed noise and Stiles rolled his head to look up at him. “It’s okay,” he tried to console. “I’m getting used to it. The fox isn’t so bad anymore.”

“Fox?” his dad whispered, sharing a shocked look with Scott. “He doesn’t mean … ?”

Scott looked at Derek for a conformation he couldn’t give. “I don’t think so?”

Derek ground his teeth together. 

Stiles patted his arm. “S’okay, my wolf. Don’t worry, I’d never hurt you for breaking our pact. I love you.” 

Derek glanced at him in surprise. Then, as Stiles’ head lolled forward once more, he told everyone, “The possession left an influence inside him, separate from his magic. He’s capable of taking people’s feelings. It became active when he was changed into a fae.”

There was complete silence from everyone in the room. It was so still, Stiles could hear the clock on Derek’s wall ticking and his dad breathing unsteadily behind him. 

Deaton broke the silence just as Stiles was cluing into it being an uncomfortable one. “What does the Nemeton want from you, Stiles?”

Groaning, Stiles let his head fall back onto Derek’s shoulder. The Nemeton didn’t really want anything, not like Deaton was insinuating. It was magic, magic that had a purpose, a purpose which wasn’t being fulfilled. The magic needed balance to achieve its purpose. There wasn’t a thought of wanting anything. There wasn’t thought. Not how people understood the concept, anyway. That’s why there was Stiles. He was the thinking part of the Tree. But he wasn’t doing his job. He wasn’t thinking enough. He couldn’t think.

“What does the Tree want?” Deaton asked with more force.

“Nothing. The Tree doesn’t want anything. The Tree needs, it demands. It doesn’t let me rest.” Stiles didn’t mean to sound displeased. He’d never voiced negative thoughts about the Tree before, hadn’t even known he had issues with it. Sometimes it felt like the Tree would take everything from him, everything he was, but he’d give it gladly. His eyes stung and he rubbed at them.

“What does the Tree need? What do you need to do for it?”

Stiles was almost thankful to be able to say, “The Nemeton needs to regrow to bring back balance within the Beacon Hills county. I’m the barrier between the Tree being used for darkness and the light prevailing against it.”

“Holy shit,” Scott breathed out.

“How will you help it grow?” Deaton asked.

“Sacrifice will be made.”

“Hell, Stiles, sacrifice?!” his dad exclaimed. “What kind? Your own life??”

Stiles couldn’t stop talking. “Whatever is required.”

“No!” his dad yelled. “I refuse to let that happen! I will blow that damn stump out of the ground if that’s what it will take to stop this madness!”

“Sheriff, be careful,” Deaton warned. “That’s a dangerous threat to utter in front of the fae protector, no matter that you are his father.”

“I don’t care! I can’t loose him again! I can’t …” Stiles’ dad trailed off, his face white under red splotches of fury. “I won’t let him die, Allan. Not again.”

A disturbance rippled across the calm Stiles floated in. The more his dad ranted, the more his magic fought the herbs’ effects, trying to wriggle out from under their hold. His fox ability slipped up and out of him, coasting through the room to his dad and latching on, enveloping Stiles in fierce protectiveness. It was an amazing feeling, strong and welcome. He sighed out against Derek’s shoulder.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Deaton’s asked.

That was an easy question to answer. “Everyone to stop.” Stiles wanted to pause the world to give himself a moment of peace. He almost had it resting in Derek’s arms, his magic quiet inside him.

“Stop what?” Deaton’s voice was deceptively mild. 

Stiles blinked, his eyelids thousand pound weights. He wondered if he could reach out and touch Deaton’s words as they floated out of his mouth. There was a murmur of voices and he murmured back in disquiet, wanting to sleep.

“Stay with us, Stiles. The smoke’s effects will ease soon and you’ll begin to feel more like yourself again.”

That pierced the floating bubble Stiles was bobbing along in. “Nooo …” he complained.

“No?”

“Calm.” Stiles made his hand move in a flat line before it dropped heavily. “I like it.”

Deaton seemed to stare at the air around Stiles for a moment. “I see,” he murmured.

“Care to explain?” Stiles’ dad asked too loudly from behind the sofa, causing Stiles to flinch a little, and Derek to rub a hand comfortingly up and down his arm.

“Stiles’ magic is, for want of a better way to describe it, under the influence. It’s sleeping. And it appears Stiles is quite appreciative. Which begs the question as to why?”

Rolling his head back once more, Stiles looked at the ceiling’s singular cross beam. He pictured Derek pulling it up into position by himself as he fixed the roof, strong muscles flexing in all the right ways. It was a nice picture, pretty picture.

Derek said his name and Stiles swiveled his eyes sideways and smiled at him. When Derek smoothed a hand across his brow, Stiles smiled some more, eyes dropping closed. There was talking going on around him, Derek’s voice a lovely rumble that soothed, but Stiles didn’t try to understand what was being said. The conversation was a wave, rolling him along gently.

“His magic could be at fault?!” 

Stiles jolted awake from the lull, his dad’s incredulous tone enough to shatter any comfort. He gave an unimpressed look over the back of the sofa where his dad was pointing an accusing finger at Deaton.

“I don’t for one minute think he’s doing this to himself! You can shove your psychoanalytic talk, Allan. My boy is unwell and something is doing it to him. More than likely, it’s that damn tree!”

Deaton held up his hands. “And I agree, Noah. But the fact remains Stiles’ magic seems to be actively helping. He was a spark before he was fae and his innate magic stems from belief. Some part of Stiles wants what is happening to him. Believes in it.”

There was yet another ugly pause while everyone took in what Deaton had just said. Stiles turned his glare onto the druid.

“The influence can’t be stopped.” Deaton’s tone did not indicate whether he found this to be worrying or not.

“What?” Stiles’ dad was not happy. “Why?”

“Because, as you mentioned, everything points to the Nemeton being the cause and as they are so tightly bound to one another there is no undoing it. We can only let it run its course.” 

Stiles’ dad looked like someone had cut him off at the knees. “Not again,” he cursed quietly. “I suppose that means we can’t destroy the damn thing, can we?” 

Stiles hissed at him, and his dad looked at him in surprised annoyance. “Don’t you make that noise at me.”

Deaton interrupted their glaring contest. “I believe to destroy the Nemeton would be to also destroy a part of Stiles, if the action did not just kill him outright.”

That made his dad pause. “Say again?”

“Noah, you’ve been told Stiles is the Tree’s protector but I don’t think you understand just how connected they are. Even I can’t entirely fathom how much the Nemeton and Stiles share, though we’ve been given further insight by what Stiles revealed to us today.” Deaton gave Stiles a look he couldn’t interpret. The druid stoicism was there but some indefinable edge lay underneath it, making Stiles wonder what he was really thinking.

“Is this true?” his dad asked, turning to Stiles, clearing hoping Deaton was mistaken. 

Stiles just looked at him, surprised his dad didn’t already know this. It was pretty self-explanatory after all, what with the Nemeton giving him back his life so he could help bring balance to the surrounding county. 

“When you say ‘run its course’, do you mean this will stop?” his dad asked Deaton, waving a hand and incorporating all of Stiles.

Deaton seemed to consider his words carefully. “Life follows circular paths. With time, we will reach the apex of what Stiles’ behavior alludes to.”

“With time??”

Again, Deaton sent Stiles another indecipherable look. “I believe it won’t be long.”

Stiles’ dad glared at him. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Then, God damn it, Allan! Tell me!”

Deaton shook his head. “This is a matter with personal implications for Stiles. Besides, the herbs seem to have worn off for the most part. Any more questions will have to wait for another time, unless Stiles wishes to continue?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Stiles agreed. The herbs were still effecting him more than Deaton had implied, but Stiles wasn’t about to prolong things just so everyone could look at him with more disappointment then they already were.

Deaton nodded like Stiles had done exactly what he’d expected. “I do wish to speak to Stiles alone, though Derek should stay.” He looked at Scott and Stiles’ dad expectantly, clearly waiting for them to leave.

Scott looked more than ready to comply, which suited Stiles just fine. His dad on the other hand was determined to stay. 

“Whatever’s going on, I need to know. All this secrecy needs to end.”

Deaton was unimpressed. “This pertains to the personal side of things, Sheriff. The ones Stiles did not agree to divulge.”

“Oh, for the love of … fine!” Stiles’ dad threw up his hands. “I’ll wait over there.” He jerked his thumb towards the open kitchen. “I won’t hear a thing. You got coffee in this place, Derek?” He stomped over to the pantry before Derek could answer with more than a raised brow.

Scott looked between Deaton and the kitchen, obviously torn. 

“Wait a little bit, Scott, then maybe he’ll go with you,” Deaton advised. 

After Scott went to help make the coffee, Deaton turned to Stiles. “Derek has been telling me about what happens when he turns into a full wolf.”

Stiles gave Derek an incredulous look. “Seriously?!”

Derek shrugged. “I needed another opinion.”

“Fuck, Derek!” Stiles squirmed, knowing he must be projecting a really strong scent right then, one of extreme discomfort tinged with an arousal he couldn’t help but feel as it came upon him suddenly.

“Um, Sheriff?” Scott spoke up. “Would you mind coming outside with me for a bit?” 

“No,” Stiles’ dad said, firmly. He’d given up with the complex coffee maker and had settled on making himself a pot of tea. Stubbornness ran deep in the Stilinski gene pool. 

Stiles turned and leant over the back of the sofa, all of his lethargy completely gone, along with the pixie powder’s effects. “We’re talking about sex, Dad. You really want to hear what Derek and I get up to?”

Scott’s eyes went big and his mouth dropped open. Belatedly, Stiles realized he’d just told Scott about his and Derek’s potential of doing it like the animals do. His cheeks burned.

“Nooo.” His dad shook his head and held up one hand in the universal gesture of ‘stop’. “No, I do not want to hear about that. Not. Ever.” He turned to Scott. “Come on, you,” he ordered, and grabbed Scott by the shoulder, pushing him, stumbling, over to the front door, which he proceeded to shut behind them with a bang. Stiles then heard him say, very loudly, “Hell, Scott! You could have given me some warning!”

“I tried!” 

Stiles’ dad huffed. “We’re going. I need to think about some things and no one in there needs us overhearing what they’re talking about.”

“Like I want to hear it!” Scott protested.

“Just come on!” 

Their footsteps echoed across the porch before going down the stairs. Stiles couldn’t hear them once they’d stepped onto the forest floor. 

“Fuck my life,” he sighed out, and scooted down into the sofa. If he slouched any further he’d slide right off.

Deaton sounded amused when he cleared his throat and said, “Now that we’re alone, thanks to Stiles’ rather adroit method, we can discuss the fact that he’s correct in the assumption you should let this play out.”

Stiles looked up at him, while Derek spluttered, “What?!”

Deaton smiled the tiniest bit. “To allay your more basic fears, there are a lot of instances where sex magic is performed during rituals all over the world. Done correctly, no harm will befall you. In fact, Derek, if you keep fighting it, the situation could potentially become quite harmful.”

“But what about the wolf part of it?”

“I can understand your reticence and in the average human circumstance I would not be condoning it. But you’re supernatural and the act does not involve an animal that can not give informed consent. If you are both agreeable to it, there is no reason for you not to move forward.”

“But —” 

“It is possible the wolf won’t be an issue at all. I believe the change and the sacrifice are not interdependent of each other.”

Stiles stared at Deaton, remembering when he’d brought his pet snake to the clinic to be cured of illness through deft veterinary skills. “I can’t believe you’re talking to me about sex,” he blurted out.

Deaton chuckled, making the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up. “It wasn’t something I thought I’d be doing at any point, let me assure you.” He began placing the herb bundles and other items back in his medical bag. “That said, I will stress upon you both that if sacrifice is required then that is what will have to be done.”

“Isn’t there a way to break it?” Derek sounded defeated, and Stiles frowned at him. Why was he still fighting it?

Deaton stopped packing and leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Derek, Stiles is part of the Nemeton. There is no ‘stopping’ it from affecting him because he is the Tree. In some aspects, anyway.” 

Derek remained unhappy as he digested that bit of logic and wouldn’t look Stiles in the eye.

“There is one thing I haven’t mentioned.” Deaton pointed to Stiles’ neck where his hoodie had ridden down. “I notice you’re claimed?” 

Stiles put a hand up, covering his scar. It twinged and the Nemeton’s magic flowed a bit stronger, no longer hampered by the herbs.

“Do you have a corresponding mark, Derek?” Deaton asked.

Derek shook his head. “No.”

“Ah. It’s as I suspected. You have an incomplete claim. It’s why the Nemeton’s magic settled in you.” 

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “What?”

Holding out both hands, Deaton made the action for weighing something, one hand coming to rest higher than the other in the air. “Derek stopped the Nemeton from pulling at you, Stiles, taking it all into himself, trying to protect you without consciously knowing he was doing so. But he isn’t meant to hold such magic and it had to go somewhere. Hence the extra size in his wolf and his need to protect becoming almost all-consuming. If you had claimed him, the Nemeton magic would have stayed within you and the urges you are now both struggling with wouldn’t be an issue because you would have known what the Nemeton required before it got so far along.”

“But I’m not a wolf,” Stiles pointed out needlessly. “Claims are a wolf thing.”

Deaton shook his head. “True that you’re not a werewolf, but you are a fae. You’re supernatural, Stiles. And for most of them, including fae, claiming is reciprocal. Your claim on Derek is just as important, if not more so right now.”

“I didn’t know,” Derek said softly, looking to be in slight shock. Stiles grabbed his hand where it lay between them.

Standing, Deaton picked up his bag. “To keep things simple, do as follows: Complete the claim and give the Nemeton what it needs. You’ll both feel better afterwards. Derek, your wolf should go back to normal size. Stiles, your magic will settle and you won’t feel so aggressively protective of yourself and the Tree.” He walked to the front door, but just before he opened it, turned back. “A lot of things went unasked and unanswered today. Perhaps in a more relaxed situation, sans bystanders, we could converse without being so wary of the things that may be divulged.”

Stiles snorted. “More relaxed? You planning on drugging me with something stronger?” 

Deaton gave him a phlegmatic look. “There hasn’t been a fae protector in Beacon Hills for a good many years and you are without a herd to bond with and to learn from. Feeling you are not up to the task before you is understandable. But there are those of us who are willing to help, if you would allow it.” After giving that oddly weighted statement, Deaton let himself out, closing the cabin door behind him. 

Stiles turned to Derek who was gazing at the floor, an air of deep contemplativeness having settled over him. Scooting closer, Stiles kissed his jaw. When Derek didn’t react, he did it again, enjoying the prickling of stubble on his lips. Derek finally stirred when Stiles kissed him gently on the side of his mouth. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, eye to eye with him.

“Hey back,” Derek replied. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked. “You seem kind of distracted.” To make his point he ran his hand up Derek’s thigh and leant in closer.

Derek turned his head away. Stiles studied the side of his face, noting the crease at the edge of his mouth where it pulled down. Giving Derek one more kiss to the cheek, he stood up. He’d take a short walk, give his wolf some space, and would be there when he was needed. 

Stiles had taken two steps from the sofa and was picking up a folded blanket from the floor pile, thinking he’d make sure Derek was wrapped up comfortably, when he was grabbed around his waist and pulled backwards. He may have flailed the slightest bit as he was manhandled, Derek crouching over him like some kind of protective bear. Or wolf. The desperate kiss also came out of left field and had Stiles floundering for a few seconds. Then he kissed back with everything he had, making sure when they parted, Derek was on his way to being breathless. 

Derek’s eyes were shining blue and he gave one of his soft rare smiles, the ones Stiles knew were just for him. “I love you,” Derek whispered.

Stiles melted, those three words coming from his wolf able to crumble any and all defenses. “I love you, too.”

They hugged each other for a long moment, squished up side by side on the sofa. It was as close to perfect as Stiles could wish for. “Can you feel the Nemeton?” he asked, his cheek pressed up against Derek’s. It was pulling at him, not very strongly but it was only a matter of time.

Derek nodded. “It’s not as bad as it was. I haven’t turned into a wolf lately either, so there’s that to be thankful for. Maybe talking about it with you was enough to fix things?”

Stiles made a face, knowing what Derek hoped for wasn’t true. “Yay me, stopping my pair bonded from wanting to fuck me. Smart move on my part.”

Snorting, Derek rubbed his stubble along Stiles’ cheek. “This is going to sound depraved but what the hell. Stiles, I want to fuck you all the time. All. The time. I want you even when you’re sleeping.”

Stiles raised an interested eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“How do you not understand how sexy you are?” Derek wasn’t upset or angry, just bemused. “You make me crazy just by looking at me.” To make his point he led Stiles’ hand down to his groin. Heat seeped into Stiles’ palm. Derek was hard enough that tracing the veins of his dick through his jeans would almost be easy.

Stiles flushed, his face feeling hot and tight, but he gave Derek’s question serious thought while he enjoyed the warm firm feel under his hand.

“Get it now?” Derek asked.

“I guess for the past few months it’s been difficult knowing what to believe,” Stiles admitted.

Derek’s expression became one of regret.

“Don’t blame yourself, Der. You’re not the one who screwed up by not understanding what the Tree was doing. I put you through hell. That’s all on me.” Stiles removed his hand.

“Don’t you dare,” Derek growled. “You can’t take the blame. If I’d known more about claiming, this mess wouldn’t have even started.” He ran one hand over Stiles’ jaw. “I just wanted to claim you so badly. It’s still the same, even now. I want you.” His gaze moved from Stiles’ face down his neck to rest on the claim mark. His eyes flashed and he growled softly. Moving slowly, he settled himself between Stiles’ legs. 

Stiles sucked in a breath before exhaling in happiness. Nothing else filled him with the kind of quiet contentment he got from being under his wolf; here he was safe and loved. Hooking a knee over Derek’s hip, he dared a cheeky grin. “So when are we doing this reciprocal claiming thing? Now?” 

When Derek stiffened in his grasp, Stiles barged on, willing and very much wanting to bite Derek as soon as possible. The idea, now that he was thinking about it with more intent, was hot and awesome and just wow. “We were told the longer we wait the more painful it could be.” He started a slow roll of his hips. It wasn’t much, Derek was a solid weight in all the right ways, but it got some friction happening.

Derek averted his eyes. “Deaton was talking about delaying the sacrifice, not the claiming. But I’d rather wait.” 

There was reciprocal rocking going on as Derek spoke, so it took a few seconds for Stiles to understand what he’d said. “You’re against me claiming you?” Stiles must have still been strung up on the herbs, he felt an emptiness at the idea Derek didn’t want his claim but anger was surprisingly absent.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Derek curled his hand over Stiles’ claim mark, causing Stiles to almost bite his tongue as a full-body shiver went through him. Derek looked supremely smug. “If you do it now I’ll change into my wolf and take you right here. I don’t have enough control to stop it. We need a bit more time.”

“So what if you shift? We both said we wanted it, so let’s do it.” Stiles scraped his fingers like claws down Derek’s sides, pressing hard through his shirt.

Derek shook his head. “Saying it, fantasizing about it, is one thing. Doing it …”

Stiles was honestly amazed that Derek was the one hung up on this. “I don’t understand.”

Dropping his eyes, Derek focussed somewhere on Stiles’ chin. “I’ve ever done it before, not like that. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want …”

“You don’t want it to suck,” Stiles guessed, part of him finding it funny.

Derek looked embarrassed. “It’s very possible that sex with me as a wolf will not be the end-all be-all you’re imagining. I want to make sure you’re not uncomfortable or hurt.”

Stiles found that very endearing. And kind of silly. “My sweet wolf,” he intoned, leaning up to kiss Derek on the forehead. “Apart from the very obvious lube we’ll be using, there isn’t much we can do. Yeah, I expect there’ll be some pain because we’ll be working out the mechanics as we go along. I’m not imagining magical lights or singing choirs because let’s face it, that would be worrying and entirely too public for me. I am imaging loving being with you, because I always love it. Just being able to have sex with you at all turns me on like no one’s business. The very idea sets me to burning. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but stop being a stupid-head.”

“Nice,” Derek replied, but a slightly dopey look had spread over his face. 

Stiles mentally high-fived himself. “Trust, then. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” 

“And I trust you, Der,” Stiles said, truthfully. He hated that he’d wavered in his belief. He dearly hoped Deaton was right about his emotional issues being tied up with not completing the sacrifice.

“You do?” Derek was obviously thinking along the same lines.

“I do.” Stiles picked up Derek’s hand and pressed the back of it to his lips. 

“Good.” Derek rocked down into Stiles again, as if he needed to illustrate with his dick how turned on both of them were right then. He really didn’t. 

Stiles gasped. Derek was grinding in all the right places.

The Nemeton tugged at him, the need growing more urgent, making him think about what everyone had been saying. But it couldn’t be the Tree making him so angry all the time, it just couldn’t. He was sure it was just a reaction to all the crap being laid on him recently. And in the past year. And during the possession. He had a lot of crap to deal with.

“Just promise me,” he pleaded. “No matter how much of an asshole I am, whatever the reasons for it, you’ll pull me back, stay with me, not let me go.”

“I’ll never let you go, Stiles. I told you that before.”

Stiles nipped at Derek’s chin. “Thank you.”

Derek kissed Stiles’ cheek in return, and Stiles yawned. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, then yawned again into the back of his hand. 

Sitting up, Derek settled back on Stiles’ thighs. Stiles complained with a sad noise and grabby hands, which were deftly evaded. 

“You’re exhausted. Deaton said you were physically drained.” Derek pulled up Stiles’ shirt to expose his chest. 

“Hey!” Stiles pulled it back down. The removal of clothes in an unsexy way wasn’t what he was aiming for. “I’m fine.”

“I’m making a point. Your ribs are showing. Again. When did that happen?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You’ve only just managed to put enough weight back on from a year ago! Scott was the one who told me about it this time. I didn’t even see it. How did I not see it?” Derek climbed off Stiles’ legs, pushing them out of the way. 

Stiles looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Okay, so it is a big deal,” he agreed without meaning it. “Can we just let it go?”

“No, we can’t. This is your health we’re talking about.”

Stiles sat up and scooted closer, trying for cute when he rested his cheek on Derek’s shoulder and looked up at him through his lashes. “We’ve both been dealing with things on our own, it’s easy to miss stuff when that happens. I didn’t even notice, Der, so you can’t blame yourself.”

“Remind me why we haven’t been helping each other?” Derek sighed, putting a hand on Stiles’ knee.

“Too many reasons. But if Lydia were here, she’d say it’s because we’re stupid.”

Derek half-smiled. “Everyone’s stupid compared to Lydia.”

“So her point would be valid.” Another yawn threatened which Stiles tried to hide, but he only ended up making a weird face then yawning loudly anyway.

“We’re not doing anything until you’ve had some proper sleep,” Derek decided, pulling Stiles off the sofa. 

Stiles let himself be led to the bedroom, imagining Derek changing into the wolf right then. The Nemeton pulsed within him and the hard-on he still sported was a hot heavy weight that needed attention. Screw all this waiting, it was ridiculous.

Turning quickly, Derek gave Stiles an assessing glance, a stubborn look of determination crossing his face. Before Stiles could do anything, he was being tumbled onto the bed, squeaking in surprise as he bounced a few times on the mattress. 

Derek smiled in amusement, chuckling as he climbed over the top of Stiles and leant in. “I love it when you make those noises,” he whispered.

Stiles frowned up at him but all thought vanished when Derek’s mouth, hot and insistent, started to suck on his neck, making him shudder. He wrapped himself around Derek like an octopus as teeth bit down on his claim scar. 

Muscles locked up, and orgasm tore through Stiles frighteningly quick, sparks zipping along his blood vessels like colliding race cars. The Nemeton reached out and took, sucking the energy away and leaving lethargy in its wake. He was tumbling into a doze before he could fathom what was happening. 

“Mmm sorry,” he got out as he felt his pants being taken off and a warm cloth cleaning his skin. There must have been a disconnect through time, because he didn’t recall Derek having the cloth before.

The disconnect happened again when the bed sheets slid up over him and he turned onto his side, face burrowing into the pillow. Arms came up around him and he snuggled back into a bare chest. He made a questioning noise, enough of his brain still on line to feel bad about leaving Derek hanging.

“It’s okay,” Derek soothed. “I took care of it.” He nosed into the back of Stiles’ skull, making a happy sound. “You’re beautiful when you come undone for me.” 

Stiles hummed in reply, too tired to talk. He expected to fall asleep but it didn’t happen. Instead, he lay there in Derek’s arms feeling his magic slowly coming back online, the herb effects finally dissipating completely. 

Mentally stretching as his magic perked up, Stiles wanted to give it a hug. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking before; he loved feeling his magic roll around in him, subject to his thoughts and feelings. He may not use it all that often but he’d get there. Without magic, he’d loose an important part of what made him who he was.

He didn’t want to drug his magic and wouldn’t let anyone do it to him ever again. 

***

There was sunlight everywhere, above and below, and Stiles lay back in it, floating along in the stream as it rushed around. He didn’t know where he was exactly, except he was astral projecting and at some point might end up somewhere. He should have been a lot more concerned than he was, but the thought dripped out of his mind and fell away. 

He spun around slowly, watching individual sun rays past by. Or was he passing them? 

Didn’t matter. 

Was he matter? 

Was this the in-between place when he sunlight-leaped, the place he was after he left another only before he arrived somewhere else? 

Did that matter?

Stiles laughed and his laugh was a crackle of energy that soared up and away from him, causing ripples in the streams of light. It echoed out, the sound fading the further away it got until it was lost in the bright eddies. He hummed, watching the tiny ripples the noise made spreading out around him as he floated. All his worries were gone and Stiles felt as light as … something light. 

Sunlight! He was as light as sunlight! 

Stiles laughed again and spun around in circles, spreading his arms out as he was whisked along. He could tell he was moving but not in what direction. 

Didn’t matter.

“Naive young fae,” a familiar voice said with fondness, “playing in the currents. Luckily we were here, having discerned your voyage.” Thin strong arms came around Stiles’ chest. “Otherwise, you would have been lost to the fullness of time.”

Stiles let himself be tugged backwards, out of the light, knowing who it was who had hold of him, but the loss of light was more dramatic than he was ready for. Plunged into the darkest of cold seas and sinking down fast to the bottom, he didn’t know which way was up or down. He cried out and put his hands over his eyes.

“Oh, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” purred the fae who had created him, hugging him close against a whip-cord tight chest. “With your help, we will have our Summation and it will be glorious.”

***


	5. The Back-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past rears its head.

Stiles was sitting on the Nemeton stump in the astral plane, watching as his fae creator whirled a hand around in a ray of light it had somehow plucked from the air, a master weaver creating something out of seemingly nothing; the intricate patterns incomprehensible except as fast finger movements and complicated twists and turns of light, the light being something which shouldn’t be able to be manipulated like a piece of thread. Only Stiles was watching it happen, so it must be possible. 

The fae had explained the Nemeton’s magic snagged him in his sleep and had left him floating in one of the many telluric currents which soared above the ground. Stiles hadn’t even known there were currents up in the sky, but he guessed it made sense in a strange magical way. As he’d just been swimming around in one, who was he to say they didn’t comply with logic? 

They were not always bright with sunlight either apparently, but sometimes dark as a new moon, spangled with starlight or wet with dew. His fae creator also said something about Stiles not being capable of traveling those paths just yet and how lucky he hadn’t been dumped in one during a lightning storm because his astral body would have been blown to itty bitty bits. Of course, the fae used different words, bigger terminologies, but Stiles got the gist of it: Do not play in the currents.

At first he’d been pissed the Nemeton had landed him in such danger without him actually knowing it was happening. He knew of course that the Tree was instinct and magic, not supreme thought or even a little inkling of thought, but still wanted to be able to hold a grudge. For about a tenth of a second he did, then he let it go, unable to be mad at something so impossibly more important than himself.

After explaining things, the fae had commenced its light show. Stiles wasn’t able to bend light so he didn’t think this was a lesson, but it was a joyous thing to behold. 

The fae waved its hand once more and the ray of sunlight untwisted from its delicate web and became impossible to pick out from any other piece of light that made up the day. Stiles clapped and was properly impressed.

The fae brushed aside his praise but it wore a pleased expression and its deep eyes shone. “You have the ability. The skill will be yours sooner than you think.”

“Not in a hundred years,” Stiles scoffed.

“Perhaps in two,” the fae countered. 

“What?” Stiles wasn’t sure if the fae was joking, having just spoken about an unimaginable length of time like it was a possibility. 

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the fae tittered at him, ignoring his question. “Why do you keep delaying the Tree’s healing?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not! Maybe the difficulties I’m having are because I was left to figure it out on my own.”

“You know exactly what to do. You started the process. You were perfect, you gave the Tree a willing sacrifice, a whole life! But then nothing. No more lives, no more sacrifice! Why do you do this?”

“How do you know that?” Stiles asked, somewhat dumbfounded by the fae’s knowledge. He hadn’t spoken to it since before he’d sacrificed Brine, over four months ago.

The fae answered with a dismissive expression. “You are ours. We see you.”

Stiles wasn’t at all sure how he felt about the fae peeping into his life. Especially as it hadn’t decided to help him when he so desperately needed it.

Tipping its head to the side, the fae considered him. “Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, you seem unhappy.”

“You think?!” Stiles stood, waving his hands around as agitation got the better of him. “You turn me into a fae, give me one history lesson, a few downloads of information right into my brain about how important it is to be what we are but not how to heal the Tree, then you shoot off, leaving me to muddle through. Plus, I’m apparently suffering from some kind of emotional melt-down, and all you can say is I seem unhappy? What the fuck?!”

Ignoring Stiles’ outburst, the fae stepped up into his personal space, blinking its wide angular eyes and staring at him. As he stared back, a feeling not unlike a finger running down the inside of his skull made itself known and Stiles shuddered in discomfort. The fae drew back and Stiles rubbed at the space between his eyes, trying to rid himself of the crawling sensation that lingered in his head.

“Star bright, yet stirred like muddied waters,” the fae said. 

“Fuck you and the light you rode in on,” Stiles countered, annoyed by its arrogant tone.

The fae moved fast, faster than Stiles could blink, hooking him under his jaw with its sharp hard fingers. He couldn’t move an inch without potentially slicing his throat. “We ride storms, not light,” the fae told him, smiling and showing all of its sharp little teeth. It dropped its hand and Stiles cradled his jaw. He wasn’t hurt so much as just chastised.

Storms. There’d been a storm. A wild one. A three-day-long storm which had only just passed. “That was you,” Stiles surmised. “The snow dump, the wind, the rain.” 

The fae nodded. 

Stiles thought of the poor aspen trees which had buckled under the snow’s weight; the damage his dad told him the town had suffered from the winds and rain; the numerous vehicular accidents and injuries which always went hand-in-hand with stormy weather. “You’re mode of transport leaves a wake of destruction.” 

“We enjoy destruction,” the fae defended. “Change in structure begets more change.”

“Okay,” Stiles muttered. He decided to try a different tact, one more polite. “Would you care to tell me why you’re here, now?”

“The full moon is two weeks and two days coming.” 

“You came because of a full moon? We’ve had a few of those since we saw each other last.”

“We see you often.”

“Since I saw you last,” Stiles corrected himself, fingers tapping against his thighs as agitation started to rise again. “Why this moon?”

“Moons pull, like the Tree. Time is full, like the moon.”

Stiles stared at the fae. “I forgot how annoying you can be.”

The fae laughed, not taking offense, a wind picking up and swirling around Stiles’ head as it did so. Hair blew into his eyes and he swiped it back. 

“You said something about a summation. What were you talking about?”

The fae stroked its hand down Stiles’ cheek, cold and hot at the same time. “The circle is closing. We will begin again.”

“Begin again?”

A mist started to form along the ground, covering the fae’s feet and rising, slowly obscuring it from sight.

“Wait …” Stiles couldn’t believe it. “Give me details! Or at least help me with the Tree! Why come all this way if you’re not going to?”

The fae’s voice sounded right next to him, whispering in his ear. “Our changeling fae, our own. You have the answers you seek.” A cold hard kiss was placed on Stiles’ cheek, then the mist cleared away, leaving nothing behind. 

***

When Stiles opened his eyes, he was lying in Derek’s bed, alone. The blinds were drawn back, giving him a view of the forest through the windows. The sun was just dawning and was possibly the reason he’d woken up.

“You’re awake. Good.” 

Derek was in the doorway, a fruit drink in his hand and a frown darkening his face. He came into the room and kneeled on the bed, holding the drink out. Stiles took it even though he wasn’t hungry, shuffling up to sit next to Derek as his wolf settled with his back to the headboard.

“You’ve been asleep for close to fifteen hours. How do you feel?”

Stiles ran one finger through the frosty condensation collecting on the outside of the drink and thought about telling Derek the fae was back in the preserve. He was definitely not mentioning the Tree had sucked him into a telluric current without his consent. “I feel less tired,” he ventured. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.” He moved away, needing some space between them if Derek was going to pester.

“You don’t know.”

“Do so.”

“When was it?”

“Sunday, Dad made me lunch and a drink.” Stiles pointedly did not mention he’d had only a couple of sips of the drink and hadn’t touched the sandwich.

“Did you actually eat anything yesterday?” Derek was definitely worried.

“Sure.”

“Sunlight does not count, Stiles!”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “How about your come, does that count? It’s bound to have some kind of protein in it.”

Derek glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“It is a little.” Stiles was not laughing at all.

“Stiles, we can’t—” 

Derek was interrupted by Stiles’ phone ringing on the bedside table where it was plugged in and charging. Stiles reached for it, putting the drink on the table and ignoring how Derek’s scowl grew darker. 

It was an unknown number. 

“Hello?”

“Stiles, this is Chris Argent.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Why are you calling me?”

“I need you to come see me, right now.”

Stiles’ lip curled up but before he could tell Argent where to stick his arrogance, Derek plucked the phone from his hand. 

“Chris? We’ll be there.” He hung up and placed the phone on the sheets between them, then slid off the bed. “You’d better get dressed. When you’re ready, we’ll go.”

“And if I don’t want to?” Stiles sneered up at him.

A quickly suppressed flash of something went across Derek’s face before he looked at Stiles with indifference. “You wanted to know what I was doing. My big secret. This is it. Come or don’t, your choice.” 

He left the room, and Stiles blinked at the space where Derek had just been. Then he glanced out the bedroom window through the branches of the aspen that grew just outside. The sky was bright and clear but clouds swirled around in fast stripes, a sign of another storm coming. If they were going to Argent’s place, wherever that was, Stiles was going to have to dress like the weather affected him. Which meant shoes.

Reluctantly dressing, Stiles stood in the middle of the bedroom, feeling uncomfortable in the most layers he’d put on in over a month. He scrunched his toes up in his sneakers.

“You good to go?” Derek walked back into the room, his eyes traveling down Stiles’ body with an amused twinkle in them. “That’s got to feel strange.”

“You have no idea,” Stiles grumbled. He tugged at the jacket, wanting to take it off.

“Leave it.” Derek dropped to his knees and started tying Stiles’ laces. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking down. Hesitantly, he ran his fingers through dark hair, a bit of tension leaving Derek’s shoulders as Stiles rubbed his skull. 

“You need to bring your drink, too,” Derek told him and looked up. 

Stiles curled his hand against the side of Derek’s face and their eyes caught. Stiles drew in a quick breath as the Nemeton’s magic chose that moment to start waking up. Derek’s eyes darkened, and Stiles had images of Derek unzipping his jeans and taking him into his mouth.

“Der …”

Derek stood up, face to face with him, hands going to Stiles’ waist and pulling him in. Stiles went with enthusiasm, his own hands wandering over the expanse of Derek’s shoulders. They both had too many clothes on. 

When Derek kissed him, tongue running along teeth, Stiles’ mind fogged up with magic. He wanted to beg Derek to touch the claim mark which was burning again, making everything ache. “Derek …”

“Your drink.” Derek mouthed at the skin behind his ear.

“Ughhh?”

“You need to bring it.” Derek nipped down Stiles’ neck, lines of fire following in his wake. 

Stiles arched up underneath him. “Okay,” he breathed out.

“Yeah? You’ll bring it with us?” Derek licked back up the trail his teeth had left.

“Okay, sure.”

“You’ll drink it?” 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles tried to get his hands into Derek’s pants but his wolf squirmed away.

“You promise?” Derek whispered into his ear.

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, lifting up Derek’s shirt, fingertips smoothing along a flat stomach. 

Derek stepped away, breathing heavily and hands held ridged at his sides. “Get your drink, Stiles. We need to go see Chris.”

“What?” The Nemeton was screaming in Stiles’ veins. They were having sex now, right?

Derek shook his head as if to clear it, his eyes hardening with intent. “You promised, Stiles. Get your drink. We’ll take my car, I moved it to the end road while you slept.” He backed out of the room.

Stiles swayed, a cold shiver rushing through him as the magic induced sex-fog cleared from his brain. He glared at the drink sitting innocently on the bedside table. “Well played, Derek,” he muttered. “Well played.”

***

Stiles scowled, refusing to talk and rolling his eyes whenever Derek looked his way. Derek’s piece-of-shit rental car cramped his legs and he hated it with a dark and jagged anger. The drink straw wore the bunt of his displeasure as he chewed it with a vengeance.

They were driving through one of the more affluent suburbs of Beacon Hills, filled with McMansions that made Stiles sneer on sheer principle. Derek pulled into the driveway of a house that was eerily similar to the one Allison had lived in when she and her family had first moved into town. Stiles had a moment of incredulous glee; surely Argent wasn’t that screwed up?

Derek pulled on the handbrake and gave Stiles a winning smile when he glanced at the empty drink in his lap. “Thank you,” he said, as if Stiles had done him a huge favor.

Stiles stuck his tongue out and threw the drink cup onto the back seat. Unfolding himself out of the front seat was a challenge, his legs and back protesting as he straightened up. 

Argent exited the house and stood on the front step, stopping Stiles from kicking the car like it so rightly deserved. Stiles was about to make a cutting comment about Argent’s choice in houses and how he wasn’t fooling anyone with his need to compensate, when Derek was suddenly next to him, gripping his elbow.

“You able to behave, or do you have to sit in the car like a brat?” 

“Don’t be a dick,” Stiles snarled, and pulled away.

Derek stood his ground. “I’ll ask you again. Are you able to get through this?” 

Despite looking highly displeased, Derek was more than just concerned. His frown hid a level of stress Stiles hadn’t been privy to until the whole conglomerate of Derek’s emotions washed over him, making him flinch and leaving him aching like he’d been physically punched in the heart.

His nasty retort died in the frigid air between them. 

This was why Stiles hadn’t wanted to see Argent. Sitting under his skin, waiting for the slightest provocation, was an endless bounty of anger which never left. It was worrying how much he wanted to use it to tear into anyone stupid enough to get in his way. But he shouldn’t use it on Derek. It wasn’t right.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Maybe not. But I’ll try. For you.” 

Derek smiled, giving Stiles a quick kiss before leading the way up the driveway. 

Argent’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his surprise quickly suppressed into blankness. “Well, that explains why I couldn’t get you to divulge certain information,” he greeted Derek. Apart from that, and to Stiles’ increasing suspicion, he made no other comment nor did he ask any questions. He just opened the door wider and welcomed them into his house. 

Stiles felt like he was walking into the belly of a shark. A two-story belly, with floor to ceiling windows, walls painted various shades of forgettable beige and packing boxes in piles under the staircase. When the front door smoothly closed behind him on its own merit and an ominous clicking sound that spoke of automatic locking was heard, Stiles froze; the feeling of being on the menu only growing.

Derek looked over his shoulder in question as he followed Argent down a hallway to their left. Stiles gave him a thin smile, debating on just turning around and fighting the door until it let him leave. When Derek stopped walking, probably monitoring his heart, Stiles tried to get a handle on himself. He could get out. He wasn’t trapped. Argent was not Brine. He was being an idiot. 

Derek was back by his side in an instant, Stiles looking into clear blue-green eyes. “We’re both okay,” Derek told him softly, angling his body so they were in as private a conversation as could be given their surroundings. “We’re safe here. Trust me.”

“Always,” Stiles answered, not having to think about it.

Derek’s eyes crinkled at the edges and he nodded in satisfaction. 

Argent was waiting politely at the end of the hallway, no expression on his face to show what he was thinking. Stiles fought down the heat he could feel gathering on his cheeks. He was more than his PTSD, he was more than a victim. He would not let Argent see him as such.

They were led into a huge room with a long dark wood table and high-backed chairs which looked like medieval throw-backs. The table had piles of paper on it and a few miscellaneous objects arranged around a laptop. 

Argent gestured towards one side. “Take a seat.”

Stiles pulled back a chair, liking that it scraped heavily across the wooden floorboards. As he sat down he leant forward, picking up the first piece of paper within reach. It was more of the same information Argent had shown him before. He dropped it back down then looked around the room, tapping the fingers of one hand on the table and then his knee. “Is this your place?” he asked. It wasn’t going too far to assume as much, but knowing for sure was always better.

“The house is mine, yes,” Argent informed him.

Stiles glanced around once more at the barely furnished room, anxiety bubbling. His magic wasn’t helping things with an increase in intensity, skittering under his skin, pricking his nerves. Being in a hunter’s home made the notion of fae hunters suddenly seem very real. It had been an abstract concept before and was easy to brush away, even with his history. Or possibly because of it. That shit couldn’t possibly touch him twice. How purposefully blind he’d been. It could touch him. History repeats. 

“Don’t worry,” Argent said, somewhat too kind in the face of Stiles’ uneasy realizations. “The house is an intermediate acquisition, one I will sell as soon as we’ve sorted things out. It has the advantage of giving me a base of operations with a substantial security system. Beacon Hills is not my home, nor do I wish it to be.” 

Stiles scowled, tempted to comment on the obvious lie; there were too many packing boxes for this to be any sort of intermediate purchase, that much stuff screamed long-term. Some of the boxes they’d passed in the entry had warehouse storage stamps on them and had been recently opened. Argent may spin a good story but he wasn’t in any hurry to be somewhere else.

Derek clamped a hand down on Stiles’ knee under the table and moved closer, effectively trapping his twitching leg between palm and thigh, grounding Stiles in a wave of calm-entreaty-love-concern. Caught by Derek’s stare, the blue-green of his eyes seeming incredibly bright in the light that came through the large window, Stiles forgot any smart remark he’d been about to make. He lay a reciprocating hand over Derek’s where it lay on his knee and Derek’s eyes seemed to shine that much brighter.

A contemplative hum came from Argent, breaking Stiles’ peace and causing him to shift uneasily in his seat. He’d forgotten how very observant their host was. He dropped his hand away and tried to appear calm. “Why are we here?” he asked.

“I have the information you asked for.” Argent pushed a stack of papers across the table. 

Stiles grabbed them with barely disguised elation, reluctantly impressed. Argent had gotten into Brine’s phone relatively quickly. “Anything worthwhile?” he asked as he flipped through them.

There were pages of texts, a few photos, contacts, and more. Stiles caught sight of the list of herbs Deaton had given Brine to help capture a fae. That page gave Stiles pause, reminding him of one of the reasons why he hated the druid.

“Many of the files appear to be in code. I’m going through them still,” Argent replied. “I thought you may want what I’d gotten so far. Proof I’m keeping our bargain.”

“Where did this come from?” Derek asked. 

Stiles was only just realizing he’d never told Derek anything about having the phone or about gifting it to Argent. “Brine’s phone. Remember? The one he dropped the last time I spoke to him.”

Derek gave him an indecipherable look, but nodded. His hand, which had not left Stiles’ knee under the table, pushed down slightly and a finger tapped against the bone, a silent demand for explanations when possible. 

Remembering Argent was still watching with the eyes of an eagle and mind of a snap trap, Stiles pressed his leg against Derek’s thigh subtly in response. 

“Where did you see him last?” Argent queried.

Stiles thought quickly. “At the camp where he had my dad.” Derek nodded once more, confirming the lie, and Stiles asked, “Was that it?”

“No,” Argent sighed. “Unfortunately, when I turned on Brine’s phone it sent out an encrypted file to several people. It must have been a time-delayed message incase something happened to him.”

Sudden foreboding made Stiles shiver in the otherwise warm room.

“Several photos of yourself and your house were in the file, Stiles. They’re as far as I’ve gotten but we have to assume Brine mentions who and what you are.”

“So the hunters know,” Stiles surmised flatly.

“Yes. They do.”

Derek’s grip on Stiles’ knee grew impressively tight. “Your dad,” he said, as Stiles came to the same conclusion, adrenalin hitting him quick and hard.

Argent held up his hand. “I called him immediately when I knew what had been sent. He’ll be safe.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, he’ll try to catch them, he’ll … Derek, we have to go.” He stood up, but as his chair was too heavy to push back quickly it tipped over backwards with a resounding bang as it landed on the floor. 

Derek grabbed Stiles before he could run for the door. “Wait, Stiles! Your dad is the Sheriff, he knows how to do his job!” 

Stiles was wheezing, his breath catching in his throat which was too tight to allow any air through. He was vaguely aware of Argent coming to stand by him, asking Derek what he could do. Stiles trembled from head to foot and tried to pull off his jacket. The damn thing was choking him. Large, well-known hands helped him pull his arms through the sleeves and then settled warm and strong against his back. All he could see was his dad in a dirt pit with a gun held to his head. He closed his eyes. 

“In and out, Stiles. In and out.” 

Derek’s words were understandable but came from far away. Stiles tried to breathe to the rhythm Derek was setting.

“Will he be okay?” Argent asked from somewhere above him, and Stiles realized he was kneeling on the floor.

“Yeah, panic attack. He hasn’t had one in months but the past few days have been relatively stressful.” Derek’s answer rolled over Stiles like the tide going out, taking meaning along with it as the air kept faltering in his lungs.

For a while it was just the whooshing of Derek’s calm voice, rising and falling, his lips and breath against Stiles’ ear and his hands on his back, holding Stiles in place so he didn’t tremble apart completely. Finally, Stiles leant over and rested his forehead against the cool wood of the floor. Fine tremors shook through him, interspersed with larger jolts that risked his nose against the floorboards.

Argent knelt by his side and held a phone to his ear.

“Stiles? I’m here.” His dad’s voice came through on speaker, and Stiles was grateful Argent held the phone as his own hands spasmed. “Chris told me you were worried. I’m okay.”

Stiles breathed out in a rush of relief. “Dad …” His breath got stuck and he coughed a little as Derek rubbed his back.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got some time before I can see you but don’t worry, I’ve got the entire police force here, and while Parrish may not be able to fill out a requisition form correctly,” Stiles heard someone reacting negatively to the comment in the background, “he’s still a damn fine deputy who’s got my back, okay?”

Stiles made a little noise of muted amusement. “Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

Argent removed the phone and walked away, taking it off speaker to talk into it, while Stiles slowly knelt upright. Derek’s arms came around to enclose him when he found he didn’t have any strength and sagged towards the ground again. He managed to kick his legs out from under himself in a loose sprawl. 

“Wow,” he sighed. So much for being strong in front of Argent. Shame ran through him until he felt soaked in it. “Nothing like showing how mentally damaged you are to bring a meeting to an end.” 

“Don’t think like that,” Derek told him quietly. “It was a master stroke, however unplanned. Chris sees you in an entirely different light now.”

“What would that be?” Stiles rested his head against Derek. “No longer monster of the week but incompetent fae spaz? Is that a step up or down on the ‘must be eliminated’ scale?”

Derek huffed. “You didn’t notice the concern he had for you. Watch when he comes back. You’ll see what I mean.”

Stiles was too tired to do anything but pat Derek’s wrist and wait.

Argent came back into the room. “Stiles. Doing better?”

“He is,” Derek replied.

A look of relief passed across Argent’s face, confounding Stiles. “Good. I can get you something to drink, if needed?”

Stiles shook his head, so Agent walked over to the table, righted the knocked-over chair and sat back down in his own as Derek helped Stiles slowly to his feet. 

“There’s a spare room at the top of the stairs, third left,” Argent told them. When they both stood staring, he shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “If you want it. Even if it’s only for a few hours, let him rest before you stick him back in that pathetic excuse for a car you drive now. I may have some more information for you then.” Argent looked down at the papers. It took Stiles a few seconds to understand they’d been dismissed. 

“Thank you,” Derek muttered, and turned Stiles around to head out the door. At the bottom of the stairs in the entryway, he stopped and they both looked upwards. 

The steps swam before Stiles’ eyes. 

“Did you want to stay?” Derek asked him.

The light in the room seemed to flip over, inverting everything in one continuous swirl. Stiles started to do the same, tipping over backwards. Derek scooped him up, effectively stopping his fall. Stiles looked at him blankly, feeling nauseous and dizzy.

“I guess we’re staying,” Derek muttered. He took the stairs carefully. 

*** 

Stiles didn’t sleep.

He could feel his magic shoring him up, quietly and effectively filling the spaces inside him normally taken over with post panic attack exhaustion. It also helped that the spare room they’d been gifted faced the mid-morning sun, allowing it to shine across the bed in stripes as it came through the shuttered window. The reviving energy he got from it merged with his own magic, making him doubly awake.

Derek was asleep, breathing deeply, little puffs of air trailing over the back of Stiles’ neck, his arm tight around Stiles’ chest where it fell over him. Stiles ran his fingers over Derek’s wrist, very aware Derek would only fall asleep in Argent’s home if he was completely trusting of the guy. 

The sun slowly travelled up Stiles’ legs as he’d lay there and he stretched out into it, Derek moving with him, getting even closer which Stiles hadn’t thought possible. He smiled at the possessive way he was held in Derek’s arms and sighed, wriggling his toes. He felt safe, which was ironic given he was in a hunter’s house, but Derek felt so good behind him and the sunlight was coating him in lovely rays of warm energy. 

Stiles thought back to watching the fae manipulate light. He wanted to do that. It had seemed unreal and out of reach, but it called to him and he wanted to at least try. Dropping his glamour, everything came into sharp focus. He was surprised, but also not, to see his skin changing colors as it had before, cloud formations blooming across his hand and arm. He was willing to bet it was happening all over. 

The sunlight when Stiles looked at it now, was more real to him than almost anything else in the room except for Derek. Thousands of tiny shining strings seemed to make up the light, each one taking on a more physical presence the more he focussed. With one finger, he stroked along a string of light closest to him.The string reacted, causing Stiles to jump in shock. He hadn’t really believed it would work, or be so easy. He touched it again, marveling at the way the light moved. Every time he stroked it, the string of light curled and wobbled. He opened his fist and it settled in his palm, feeling solid and unquestionably malleable. 

He closed his fist and pulled. 

The light went where he directed, following Stiles’ arm as he moved it in the air, pulling this way and that. He could feel the heat wrapped up in his hand, leading out through the shutters and up into the sky. It tugged and he twisted his wrist, wrapping his hand up in it until he had a glowing ball covering his fist.

There was a gasp behind him and slowly Stiles rolled onto his back, turning his head to look at Derek. Derek’s face was open with awe and surprise as he tracked the swirling colors of Stiles’ skin, coming to rest on the ball of light between them where Stiles lay his hand. Deciding to perform for his audience of one, Stiles unravelled the light from his wrist but kept hold of the end of it. 

“Keep going,” Derek whispered, as if afraid to break the spell.

Stiles lifted his fist in the air and opened his hand, letting the string go. It melted back into the thousand other strings and Stiles knew Derek could no longer make it out. 

With only a thought and a pinch of magic, Stiles had sunlight resting on each finger tip, making them glow from the inside; five bright little suns in the spare bedroom of Argent’s home. As Stiles concentrated, the light stretched outwards from his fingers until he had streams of light dancing through the room and over the ceiling, tiny strobes swishing silently and creating far different constellations than had been seen before. 

It was breathtaking and Stiles got lost for a long moment in the ease of it, the way the light bent and twisted wherever he wished it to go. Derek was equally as mesmerized and as silent, one arm lying heavily across Stiles’ stomach. Eventually Stiles stopped, letting each finger go out, the light merging back to normal rays, and shifted under Derek’s arm onto his side.

“You’re amazing,” Derek said quietly, his eyes shining like they’d been the ones to catch the sunlight. He pulled Stiles closer.

Stiles moaned into their kiss, sucking Derek’s tongue into his mouth. Derek ran his tongue carefully over Stiles’ sharp fae teeth and then pulled back, rolling them both until Stiles was on top. 

“Claim me, Stiles. Do it now,” Derek ordered breathlessly.

Stiles tipped his head back and groaned. The idea of permanently marking all that perfect skin was too good to be true. 

Sitting up, he pressed his ass slowly against Derek’s groin, smiling at the curse Derek spat out. 

With a harried movement, Derek pulled his own shirt off, Stiles scratching down the perfect muscled plane before him, wishing he had claws in order to leave deeper marks than bitten fingernails could accomplish. He scooted back and opened Derek’s fly, tugging his pants down and off. Derek’s dick curled up towards his stomach, hardening as Stiles watched. Stiles stroked it fondly, running a finger up its length. With a quick teasing flick he then let go, giggling a little when Derek whined at him. 

When he pulled his shirt over his head, he wasn’t surprised to see cloudy swirls looping across his shoulders and down his stomach. Derek eyed him in appreciation and Stiles adored him that little bit more, hurrying to get his own jeans off. When he completed stripping, Stiles was caught off guard by the sight of cloud formations playing over his groin. Everything felt the same when he gripped himself though, so he tried to dismiss the weirdness of it.

There was chuckling, and he looked up to Derek smiling at him with such affection that his breath caught. Stiles surged up to kiss his wolf’s wonderful beautiful face, Derek continuing to laugh as he kissed over eyelids and across the bridge of Derek’s nose. Even Derek’s eyebrows got a kiss before Stiles settled back, licking Derek’s mouth open to revel in a wet slide of tongues. 

Derek kneaded the muscle of one of Stiles’ ass cheeks, and Stiles rubbed up against Derek’s hip, able to come just from what they were doing. But it was too fast, so he pulled out of their kiss with a gasp and held himself still with sheer force of will. 

With his head thrown back on the pillow, Derek breathed heavily and watched him with shiny supernaturally-blue eyes. 

Lining up their dicks, Stiles grasped them together in one hand. It was a weird visual, what with his cloudy skin, but he looked past it, focussing on Derek and what they were both feeling, and ignoring the lava-lamp quality to the proceedings. With his thumb and forefinger making a ring, Stiles pushed Derek’s foreskin down past the head, his touch softening, becoming almost reverent as he started circling the slit with a feather-light motion that made Derek pant and begin to drip steadily.

“I wanted to be inside you when I did this finally,” Stiles admitted into Derek’s ear, biting at the flesh in sharp contrast to the gentle tease he had going on below.

“Stiles!” Derek moaned out. “Yes, please.” His hand clenched Stiles’ ass so tightly that bruises were a certainty. 

Kissing Derek’s chest, Stiles moved slowly, guiding Derek’s dick to slide along his backside when he sat up. It was very tempting to just edge back a bit and tease that little bit more, rub Derek’s dick up against his hole.

“God,” Derek whispered harshly. “Stay right there.”

Thinking he meant the pressure on his dick, Derek surprised Stiles by reaching up and rubbing knuckles across his nipples. Sparks of pleasure raced across Stiles’ chest and down his spine. 

“Fuck,” Derek whispered again, eyes riveted to the nubs between his thumbs and forefingers. “This is … oh.”

Stiles glanced down, trying to figure out what Derek was so enthralled by as he’d seen Stiles’ nipples heaps of times before. He understood when Derek pinched them and Stiles shivered at the sensation. Clouds rippled around like some kind of strange target directing Derek where to touch. Again, weird by Stiles’ point of view, but Derek seemed more than okay with it, if him swallowing audibly was any indication, and Stiles wasn’t above using visual aids during sex.

“So beautiful, so amazing,” Derek told him.

“More,” Stiles pleaded, dropping his head for another kiss.

Derek used his palms, rubbing until both nipples were peaked and over-sensitive. Then leant up, catching one in his mouth and laving his tongue over it. Stiles couldn’t help it and collapsed onto Derek’s face, his elbows folding. When he tried to move back, Derek held him there and switched from one nipple to the other, leaving both spit-slick and the surrounding skin pebbled from the alternating warmth of mouth and coldness of air.

Stiles was making whimpering noises, thanking every deity that his nipples had got on the Derek-is-awesome bandwagon and were able to turn him into jelly with a well-placed suck of perfect lips. He swore everything Derek did to him was nothing short of miracle inducing. There had to be some sort of bad sex coming up in their future to level out all the wonderful he’d been having, but it so wasn’t this day.

Derek’s hand brushed against Stiles’ claim scar. It burned and Stiles cried out, ducking his head and catching Derek’s wet lips in a possessive kiss.

“You’re all mine, my wolf,” Stiles told him, wriggling back to sit on Derek’s thighs once more before starting to stroke both of them again, this time with more intent.

Derek threw back his head, arching his neck. “In me,” he begged roughly. Stiles slipped off him to the side and Derek spread out in invitation, knees bending across the sheets. “Please …”

“Not enough slick,” Stiles breathed out, licking up the corded line of Derek’s neck, nibbling here and there, a promise of what was to come. As much as he wanted to sink into Derek, he wouldn’t enter him dry. They’d been there before and Stiles could attest it wasn’t worth it, even with amped-up healing.

Derek whimpered in disappointment, tugging Stiles against him, his eyes glazed over as he looked down his nose, neck still on display. “Something, anything,” he moaned.

Stiles shushed him with a kiss. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he soothed, amazed by how desperately Derek wanted this. It was like crack to an addict, realizing his wolf wanted his claim as much as Stiles wanted to give it.

Suddenly, they were moving too slow.

Stiles pushed Derek’s leg further out of the way, opening him up. Scooping up their pre-come and rubbing it between his fingers, he bemoaned its unsuitability as lasting lube but spread it over Derek’s hole, feeling the muscles flutter under his touch. Derek sighed as Stiles pressed just the tip of one finger inside and shifted his hips trying to get it deeper. 

“Let me,” Stiles admonished, stopping him. “I’ll make you feel good, Der.”

Derek nodded and relaxed, Stiles’ finger slipping in further. Derek was so hot, so smooth and tight around him, Stiles wanted to cry that it wasn’t his dick in there. He crooked his finger and pushed at Derek’s internal walls, rubbing his finger up and around until he brushed over the hard swell which had Derek crying out and his dick dribbling even more pre-come down its red angry length. Stiles wanted to put his mouth all over it, he wanted to bury himself inside Derek’s dark heat and feel him clench down as Stiles shoved into the most private of places. He wanted so many things, but he could only do one thing right then and it was the most important of them all. 

Keeping his finger against the bundle of nerves, Stiles stretched out on top of Derek, their dicks knocking awkwardly against each other as his arm got in the way. It was an uncomfortable position for his wrist and Derek had to angle his hips up to keep Stiles’ finger in him. Stiles’ legs were splayed at angles over Derek’s and things jarred uncomfortably if they moved too quickly, but they kept at it, starting an agonizingly slow bump and slide against each other, not capable of more. 

But it did the trick, both of them breathing heavily into each other’s mouths as they swapped spit-filled kisses.

Stiles knew he must be as flushed as anything, which much look twice as weird when paired with the cloud coverage on his skin, but it was a thought easily pushed aside as his climax drew nearer. He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth and lay his mouth down on Derek’s neck. 

“Yours, bite now, Stiles-love, do it now,” Derek ordered with a whine.

And Stiles did. His teeth parted Derek’s skin, the pop of the tissues parting echoing in Stiles’ head as he drove his teeth in as deeply as he could. It wasn’t as deep as Derek’s fangs could go but it was enough. Derek cried out and clamped down on Stiles’ finger, coming over them both. Stiles tumbled over into his own orgasm as his mind blossomed and opened up, their claiming finally complete. The part of Derek already inside him doubled and overflowed, wiping out everything except their joining. 

***

“Ow, fucking ow,” Stiles griped.

Derek chuckled where he lay by his side.

Stiles frowned at him. “I’m not kidding, Derek, I think I sprained my wrist giving it to you so good.” He rotated said wrist, pouting for further emphasis. Truthfully, it didn’t hurt that bad, only twinged a bit, but Stiles kept complaining because, contrarily, Derek’s smile grew the longer he did and his wolf’s laugh made him feel all gooey inside. 

Derek caught his hand where Stiles was holding it up for inspection. “My ass thanks you for your sacrifice,” he told it and kissed the inside of Stiles’ wrist, over the shiny scar from his kidnapping that would never go away.

Stiles snorted. “Next time, your ass can thank my dick. Seriously, Der, I really need to fuck you.” He went back to pouting.

Laughing once more, Derek ran his tongue up the vein in Stiles’ forearm. “We should carry lube all the time, then we wouldn’t have any issues and you could fuck me whenever you wanted.”

Stiles didn’t answer, his brain stuck on the possibilities and why the hell he hadn’t thought of that before, and on Derek’s lips tracking over his wrist. 

Derek smirked at him, his eyes flicking up under obscenely sexy lashes which Stiles wouldn’t have said was even a thing until Derek had come along and proved him wrong, before slowly closing them as he continued to minister to Stiles’ wrist. 

“Uh,” Stiles said intelligently. 

Derek’s smirk widened against his skin. 

Stiles swallowed against a dry throat. Once. Twice. “Yes, lube, all the time, we should get on that.” 

Derek nibbled against the thick part at the base of Stiles’ thumb, a hint of fang showing, and Stiles’ breath stuttered out of him.

There was a thumping knock on the bedroom door.

Derek dropped his head onto the pillow and giving Stiles a remorseful look, called out, “Yeah, Chris?”

“Rest time’s over!” Argent called out from the other side of the door. “I’ve got the code broken and Stiles will want to read what I’ve found.”

“I’ll wake him.” Derek winked at Stiles. “Give us ten minutes.”

“Sure,” Argent replied, voice loaded with something. His footsteps were especially loud walking away from the door.

“Sorry,” Derek apologized.

Stiles leant over and kissed him. “No need to say it, we still don’t have lube anyway and it’s not like we can just stay up here all day.” He was feeling particularly good and not even Argent interrupting them was going to dampen his mood. 

He placed a hand over the bite mark on Derek’s neck, wanting to feel the heat coming off it as it ever so slowly healed into a scar. He’d done that. That was his mark. His claim that he’d do anything and everything for his wolf. The claim hummed as he touched it and they both sighed, Stiles closing his eyes. Derek placed his hand over Stiles’ claim mark and the world narrowed down to just the two of them. 

Stiles could feel Derek in his head, stronger than before. It was intense and beautiful, and as he concentrated it went even deeper and he could feel Derek’s heart beating alongside his own. Two hearts in his chest.

“God, Stiles,” Derek breathed out. 

He pulled his hand away, and Stiles opened his eyes, finding he’d straddled Derek at some point and they were both hard and wanting again. 

Stiles put his head down on Derek’s chest. “We can’t go downstairs like this,” he pointed out.

“Turn around,” Derek advised. “Give me your cock.”

Stiles made a dying noise and slithered around. With encouragement, Derek positioned him kneeling above his face, while Stiles did his best not to come just from Derek blowing air on the length of him.

“You good?” Derek asked, holding onto Stiles’ thighs. “Lean down into me.”

“Oh, God, Der, this isn’t going to take long,” Stiles warned, his legs quivering.

“That’s the whole idea,” Derek agreed, and opened his mouth.

Stiles sunk down into it, making the most embarrassing noise of pure want and pleasure as Derek sucked him right into the back of his throat. 

Derek’s hands remained tight on him, keeping Stiles where he wanted when the instinct to thrust nearly overcame him. Stiles felt a nose pressing up against his balls and Derek’s throat swallowing and he cried out, hands slipping along the bedsheets. 

Derek’s dick was right there, curving up to meet him, and Stiles hummed in appreciation as he tongued the slit then opened his mouth, sliding down with practiced ease though the angle was different. When Derek groaned in response, Stiles felt it around his own shaft; a circuit of vibration traveling between them from mouth to groin and back again. 

With the wet suction echoing throughout the room, the heat surrounding him, Derek letting him shove downwards with a tiny rocking motion, Stiles was being driven mad. When he felt a dry finger trace around his hole, he let go, unable to breathe through his orgasm as Derek came at the same moment, flooding Stiles’ mouth with hot come. It dribbled out over Stiles’ chin and tears were in his eyes as he started coughing, having to let Derek slide out of his mouth. 

Tumbling sideways, he was relieved when Derek let his dick go, otherwise there would have been a painfully abrupt ending to proceedings. Stiles hacked a little more, spitting up come, and Derek rubbed a hand over his hip. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles croaked out. “Awesome.” He swallowed and worked some spit into his mouth. “Next time we use lube, ‘cause I want fingers in me. Anything that intense has to be repeated.”

Derek’s concerned look was replaced with amusement and a fair amount of justifiable smugness. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles complimented, sitting up and scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “You’re incredible, a sex god. And when you’re able, oh, wondrous wonder that is you, you need to go ask Argent if I can take a shower, because there is no way I’m going down there stinking of come.”

Derek sat up and scooped Stiles into a quick hug, making him squeak with how tightly he was held while Derek snuffled into his neck. “I like it. You smell like me. Like us.”

“Dogs like to roll in feces, Der. You liking this does not surprise me at all,” Stiles commented dryly, only to have Derek lick up his neck and laugh before pulling away. 

Bounding out of bed, Derek began putting on his clothes after wiping himself down with the bed sheet which was pretty much ruined already.

Stiles paled. “Argent’s going to know what we’ve been doing! His sheets, Derek! We can’t leave them like this!”

Derek laughed again. “What makes you think he wasn’t aware of it before?”

Stiles stared at him.

“Come on, Stiles, don’t be a such a prude. We’re all adults.” Derek slipped his shirt on.

“That doesn’t mean I want Chris Argent knowing we were fucking in his house!”

“Too late.” Derek had a contented smile playing on his mouth. “I’ll go ask about that shower while you stay up here, dying of embarrassment.” He leant over to kiss him. 

Stiles shoved him in the shoulder, but allowed the kiss. “You’re entirely too happy … why?” he asked suspiciously. 

Derek hummed, shrugging before walking towards the door. 

“Wait, Derek, come back here,” Stiles requested, holding out his hands.

Derek complied, getting up into Stiles’ personal space rather quickly. Stiles held Derek’s face in both hands and looked into his eyes, noting how they were still blown open. Derek looked stoned. 

“Der?” he asked, gently. “If I asked you to fuck me right now, what would you do?”

Derek smiled, slightly wild looking, and leant forward obviously intending to kiss him again.

Edging back, Stiles kissed Derek on the forehead to ally any hurt. “Would you?” he asked again. “Even though Argent is waiting to tell us important information?”

Derek shrugged. “He can wait. Want you.” He ran his hands up Stiles’ legs.

Stiles immediately felt the reaction as he was looking for it this time. “Ah, shit. Derek, stop. The Nemeton’s playing with us, you especially.” It seemed their alone time was over, in more ways than one. The Nemeton magic was heating up inside Stiles, curling over and over, a tight wave of energy reaching out to grasp and pull.

Derek sat back, dropping his hand from where it had started playing over Stiles’ dick. Stiles bit his lip to stop from whining at the loss. He watched as Derek frowned, seeming to look inside of himself for a moment before standing up and edging back towards the door. 

“You’re right. We really need to do this sacrifice, don’t we?”

Stiles nodded. “The sooner the better.”

Derek stared across the room, out of the window. “Okay. You can have a shower, we’ll see what new information Chris has, we’ll talk to your dad, then we’ll go …” he trailed off.

“Do the wild thing?” Stiles supplied. “Fornicate in the forest? Stump me on the stump?”

Derek shot him a look; half amusement, half exasperation. “Break several federal and state laws by committing an act of bestiality?”

“Woah,” Stiles complained. “You just had to go and suck the romance right out of it, didn’t you?” 

Bestiality. What an ugly word. Stiles didn’t think that’s what they were going to do, there were too many nuances involved for it to be that simple a label. Plus, Derek may not shift. They were only guessing about that part after all.

“You think ‘stumping’ you is romantic?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged, unrepentant. “Could be, if you did it right.” 

It was a challenge to say it that way, he knew it, Derek knew it, and Stiles thought for a moment Derek would take him up on it right then and there, and part of him really wanted him to, damn the situation they were in and the consequences. 

Derek stepped back further, breathing deeply, his eyes glowing blue for the briefest of seconds before he opened the door, frowning darkly like it killed him to walk away. But he did it, shutting the door behind him.

***

Stiles had been in embarrassing, discomforting and down-right mortifying situations rather a lot in his life. Far too many really and mostly of his own doing. But sitting across from Argent, showered and clean, with teeth brushed, after having to ask where the laundry was so he could be a polite guest and clean the damn sheets, was a special sort of hell all of its own. 

Argent, for his part, was all business and hadn’t even blinked when Stiles stuttered out his request for the washing machine’s whereabouts. He was the epitome of the cool, collected host. 

Stiles, on the other hand, could barely look Argent in the eye and felt like he was thirteen again and been caught masturbating by Scott’s mom during a sleep over. Bad enough going through it the first time, Stiles didn’t think anything would ever make him feel so utterly out of his depth with an adult ever again. He’d been wrong. And he was an actual adult himself this time round, so what the hell did that say about his ability to deal with situations that only he seemed to be having an issue with? Not much, apparently.

“We were right in the assumption the hunters know who you are, and how important. Brine told them everything.” Argent handed Stiles two pieces of paper. “Here, read this.” 

Stiles read down the first page of what could only be called a testimony, detailing exactly what Brine expected the hunters to do to Stiles and incidentally, his dad, should Brine fail in his ‘mission’. He actually labelled it as such. His mission. His crack-brained plan to make the world a better place by wiping out all supernaturals, starting with the fae. It sounded so stupid only someone as crazy as he had been, someone like say … Gerard Argent, would think it a good idea.

Stiles could feel Derek’s eyes resting on him like an actual pressing against his skin. The steady solidness of his support gave Stiles enough strength to pause and think things through. There was no panic attack building in his system this time. All he felt was anger. He let it burn, willing it brighter. 

It was one thing for Brine and co. to go after him, he was fae, but quite another to hunt a human who’s only part in this was to be unlucky enough to have Stiles for a son. His dad had already been through so much because of him.

Putting the papers down on the table, Stiles went to stand by the windows. He wiped his hands down the legs of his jeans, feeling dirtied from brushing up against Brine’s mental filth.

Derek moved from the table, coming to stand behind him, close enough to touch but not doing so. “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly, as Argent exited the room, leaving them alone. Stiles applauded the man’s tact.

“I want to kill Brine,” he stated flatly. The temptation was so strong Stiles placed a hand against the glass of the window and tapped out a steadying rhythm to help balance the thrum of sympathetic magic in his veins that was building at the very thought of taking further retribution. 

Derek’s hand came up and pressed Stiles’ flat against the cold glass. “Is Brine aware enough to be killed?”

Stiles shrugged. “Never checked.” 

The idea was a frightening one; that Brine could be sitting in the Nemeton, aware, plotting … He should be withering away, nothing but energy to be used for growing the Tree, but Stiles had never gone too far into that part of the Nemeton, not wanting to confront the man again. If that was even possible, which was doubtful. Brine was effectively gone, that was all there was to it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles decided. “It was just a thought.” 

Derek leant in, kissing the back of his neck. “I’d do it for you, if you needed me to.”

Stiles sighed and turned around, hugging Derek close. 

***


	6. The Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are given. Things are taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the chapter where the bestiality warning comes into effect. 
> 
> This part is actually why writing this took so much time. I was conflicted when the story started going into this territory because I didn't know if the flow would work or if people who'd been following along would be turned away. But then I thought, oh well, Stiles is a bit of a kinky so-and-so and he's insisting.
> 
> And of course - bestiality is best left to fan fiction, not real life. Do not do the do with your dog.

Stiles wrapped his dad up in a bone-crushing hug as soon as he saw him. It wasn’t all that well-timed as his dad was still getting out of the police cruiser and the hug sent them both into the side of it.

“Uh, Stiles?” his dad wheezed. “Need to breathe, son.” He patted Stiles on the back, waiting.

Stiles let go, but as soon as his dad had closed the cruiser’s door he went right back in for another hug.

“I’m okay,” his dad told him as Derek reached out and helped untangle Stiles’ arms. His dad put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to get these guys, kiddo. They’re going to jail if they so much as jay walk. You understand me?”

Stiles frowned, doubting it was going to be anywhere near as simple. Hunters made everything difficult, it was in their very DNA.

“Don’t fret.” His dad smiled reassuringly. “This is what I do. I get the bad guys, remember?”

Stiles looked away. He wanted to argue against his dad’s very calm, very professional response. Jail wouldn’t solve anything. People walked out of jail every day. “You need a patrol around here,” he muttered, before leading the way up the front path to their house.

Inside, Stiles went down the back hallway and stopped near the kitchen, waiting for his dad and Derek to catch up. “We gotta go, Dad,” he announced, knowing it was sudden but having little choice. 

The Nemeton couldn’t be put off any longer. While waiting for his dad to wrap up his shift, the magic pull had grown steadily stronger. It was only worry for his dad’s safety that had stopped Stiles from taking Derek to the grove hours ago.

“What? Where?” his dad asked.

Stiles rubbed at his chin, knowing what he said next was not going to go down well. “The Nemeton. Stuff needs doing.”

“No, you’re not, no way in hell. You’re staying away from that place, you hear me? You’re not going.”

Stiles tried his best not to get riled up. It was hard. The urge to yell back, to tell his dad to back the fuck off was very tempting. Especially as they’d only waited to make sure he was home, not for his permission. “You’ll be safe,” Stiles tried to reassure him. “Just don’t go anywhere on your own.”

“I’ll be here on my own, won’t I?”

“Not exactly,” answered Argent, materializing in the kitchen entrance. “Stiles suggested another person around the house would make him worry less, so I offered my services.”

Stiles snorted. That was not how it had gone down. There’d been a lot of arguing, yelling on his part, when Argent suggested he start hanging around to ‘protect’ the Stilinski family. Stiles had used air quotes while voicing his displeasure because he didn’t trust Argent and wanted to make that very clear. Only after Derek had pointedly reminded him about everything Argent had done for them recently, had Stiles relented and agreed. That, and it was the only option he had on such short notice.

Derek reached out and held Stiles’ hand, stopping its tapping against his leg. They shared a look.

His dad sighed a very put-upon sigh. “Why does Chris need to be here?”

Stiles couldn’t speak, unable to break away from Derek’s gaze. Too much time had been spent ignoring the Nemeton’s call. Intent pulsed through his veins, a hundred thousand hooks pulling at everything he was and making everything else seem small and insignificant.

When it became clear Stiles wasn’t going to answer and Derek seemed just as inclined to remain silent, Argent stepped up. “How about I explain everything, Noah, and we let Stiles and Derek go do what they need to.” He sounded so sure, so calm, even though he hadn’t the foggiest idea why they had to leave.

Stiles’ dad gave Derek a piercing look. “I expect no more secrets, you got me? You leave, Chris explains what’s going on, and you bring him right back as soon as possible. Then we’ll talk.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, he laughed. His dad would never hear of what he and Derek were about to do. Ever.

His dad’s looked darkened. “Don’t try me, Stiles.”

That was the end of Stiles’ ability to hold back. “No. Don’t try me, Dad. You don’t like the Nemeton, fine, but don’t tell me what I need to do in regards to it. If I have secrets, they’re mine to keep.” He pulled on Derek’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Stiles barreled out the back door and through the yard, into the cover of the bushes and trees that grew on the line of the property. He stopped a few feet from where the ground dropped away into the fire break that separated the neighborhood from the aspen forest. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“What?!” Stiles snapped, breathing heavily. He hadn’t wanted to leave angry. He’d tried not to. Why couldn’t his dad have just trusted him when he said he needed to go?

Derek frowned, but only shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles snarked.

Derek’s mouth pulled down. He reached out slowly and cupped Stiles’ face with one hand. Love-calm-trust flowed from the contact and Stiles could do nothing but lean into it. His breathing slowed and evened out.

“Come on.” Derek caressed his face. “I want to make love to you now.”

Stiles was very interested in doing just that, so he took Derek’s hand and stepped out of the shadows into a patch of sunlight. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me, I can do this.” He was sure of it. Letting go of the frustration of dealing with his dad, Stiles moved his magic towards Derek, wrapping him up in it, then thought about where he wanted them to be.

In the next second they were both standing in the grove's clearing, the Nemeton stump only a short distance away. 

Stiles smiled. It had been so easy. A single thought, some intent. 

Derek let out a surprised huff as he looked at where they now stood. “You’re the most amazing person.”

Stiles’ smile widened until he could feel his cheeks stretching. Everything was going to be okay.

Using both hands, Derek held Stiles’ face before leaning in. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said when he pulled back from their kiss, eyes already holding the wildness Stiles had begun to associate with the Tree’s influence. 

As Derek pulled his shirt over his head, Stiles eyed the bared muscle appreciatively. “You’re going to fuck me? Really?” he asked, reaching out to touch Derek’s stomach. “What if I want to fuck you?”

“We can do that, too. But first, you’re mine.” 

The heated certainty Derek was putting out made Stiles’ dick rise in appreciation. Derek breathed in and smirked knowingly. Stiles backed up a few steps, edging towards the Nemeton. 

There were only a few precious moments before they both unraveled to the point where everything was sex and sacrifice and nothing else. That was, after all, why they were there. But before he succumbed to Derek’s level of ‘do it now’ mentality which included stalking Stiles slowly with predator eyes, Stiles’ brain was churning along. 

He had no idea how long the whole sacrifice thing would last, and now he was wondering if he should have prepped himself a bit better than he had half an hour ago before his dad came home. He was still slick, but some of it had dried on his skin, pulling when he moved, and he had no idea if it had dried inside his body too. Could it do that? Why didn’t he know that kind of information? Shouldn’t it be on the label? He needed to read the fine print. 

Derek had lost his pants and was working on his jacket, and Stiles needed to get with the program. 

The sacrifice magic was soaring through him and he wanted to jump Derek so badly, but he needed to do some basic things first. He pulled off his own shirt, tossing it out of the way, then put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out numerous tubes of lube. It didn’t matter if he was dry, he’d come prepared.

Derek barked a loud laugh.

“Your idea was a good one,” Stiles explained, not sorry he’d had the forethought this time. 

Derek stepped towards him again, a hungry smile curling his lips.

Stiles held up his hand. “Stop.”

Derek did so abruptly. “Stiles?”

“Just let me get this sorted.” 

Stiles placed the lube on the Nemeton, not wanting to loose the tubes in the snow, looking back at Derek over his shoulder as he did so. Derek’s dick was swaying, pointing right at him, and his ass clenched in anticipation. Unzipping his jeans, he pulled them down his legs and stepped out of them. Then he walked carefully around Derek, shaking his head minutely in warning when it looked like Derek was going to move towards him.

Finding a good spot, Stiles dropped his glamour. His skin roiled with color; white and gray, with a black as dark as a building storm thrown in there too. He concentrated and the sunlight he was standing in condensed, melting the snow where he was and heating the earth under his feet. Using his hands, palms held out flat to the ground, he directed the light outwards, creating a space which was snow-free and dry. Again, it had been as easy as breathing.

“For you, Der. I don’t mind the snow, but this will be more comfortable in the long run. Even if you get all furry.”

Derek’s grin was Stiles’ only warning before he was slammed into and rolled on the ground. His mouth was taken in a demanding kiss and he gasped at the feel of Derek’s fangs. Derek’s tongue invaded his mouth and Stiles’ eyes rolled up into his head. He kissed back, hips pressing up into warm skin. Derek started to bite down his neck. 

“God! Derek!” 

Derek’s answer was to bite harder and Stiles went limp. He tilted his head to grant better access, limbs beginning to feel heavy. Derek sucked on his claim mark, creating heat and pleasure as he ran his tongue over the raised scarring. Mindful of his sharp fae teeth, Stiles left quick-healing bite marks of his own along Derek’s jaw and under his ear.

“Derek, fuck me.”

He was flipped over onto his hands and knees and Derek parted his ass cheeks. 

“You need more slick,” Derek mumbled around fangs. His fingers traced Stiles’ hole with sure strokes. One tip slipped inside and the slight burn cleared Stiles’ mind somewhat.

“Lube,” he breathed out. 

Derek was back within seconds, having grabbed a tube from the stump. The cold lube and Derek’s finger breaching him had Stiles sighing and swaying. Two fingers speared him on the next thrust and he sighed again, only to drop his head and keen when a tongue followed, slipping inside between the two digits and fluttering around, stroking with soft heat, lapping at the lube just put there. Fangs were pressed up close, lines of hard coldness rasping at sensitive skin in time with Derek’s licking. Derek rumbled and the sound vibrated through Stiles’ ass. He locked his knees to keep from falling over. 

When Derek pulled back, Stiles cursed him, only to hear him licking his lips with a satisfied sound. “Mmm, cinnamon flavored. Good choice.”

“Glad you approve,” Stiles groaned out.

Derek laved his tongue in a stripe up one ass cheek, biting at the flesh and making Stiles squeak, the noise turning into one of appreciation when Derek held him apart and nosed into his crack, tongue fluttering over him.

“Fuck, Derek, I swear, get your dick in me right now. I’m not kidding.”

“Love you, Stiles,” Derek murmured back at him. 

Stiles felt a kiss just above the dip in his back. “Me too,” he breathed out. “Love you, Der.”

“Mine, you’re mine. You were always mine.” Derek pressed more kisses into his back. 

Fingers, more than three, edged inside Stiles, feeling wonderfully thick and wrenching a cry from him as his back arched into the sensation. Derek’s thumb edged in the tiniest bit, pulling against the fragile skin of Stiles’ rim. It wasn’t enough, Stiles needed more. He honestly thought he could take Derek’s whole hand and he wanted Derek to try.

“You were all I could think about sometimes, Stiles,” Derek whispered against his skin, still laying kisses along his spine, fingers pressing and withdrawing, only to press back in with a twist. “Even before the Nogitsune, but I couldn’t act on it. I wanted to be near you, to touch you. When I saw it inside you, eating you up, taking you away, I had to remain cold, had to stop myself from ripping it out of you with my claws and teeth and taking you for my own.”

Stiles’ arousal waned slightly with the talk of the Nogitsune, but knowing Derek had felt something even then had him pushing back into the fingers which hadn’t stopped their fucking of his ass for one second. “Derek?” he asked, confused where this was coming from.

“I need you to know how long I’ve loved you, Stiles. It may not have been love like it is now but it was there, growing and changing and becoming something I couldn’t fight against.”

“You don’t need to fight it, Der. You and I, we’re together.” Stiles shuddered as Derek nudged his prostate. His dick twitched and his balls felt heavy. “I know you love me. I love you, too.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek shook his head against Stiles lower back. “I couldn’t fight it. In the end I didn’t want to. It’s a similar thing now. I can’t fight this anymore. I don’t want to.” 

He pulled his fingers out, and Stiles turned his head to catch a glimpse of him. “Fight what?”

Derek’s hands settled on his hips, his thighs pressed up against the back of Stiles’ legs. He leant forward, eyes holding dark secrets. “Fight being away from you, fight the need to take you in every way I can. I won’t fight it anymore. I can’t.”

At Derek’s slide into his ass, Stiles’ head became foggy, Nemeton magic pulsing in time with his heart, thumping hard in his veins. Their claim was lighting up, electrifying his mind.

“I'm going to shift and fuck you,” Derek groaned, punctuating his remark with a forceful roll of his hips.

Stiles clench his fingers into the dirt, jackrabbiting heart tripling its pace. “Yes, Derek, yes. Fuck, yes, do it!” He wanted it, to be underneath the great big animal that was his wolf, being taken, being opened up. He knew he’d feel nothing but safe and loved. Wolf in him, wolf over him, wolf everywhere and everything. Derek was everything, always everything. Stiles needed. “Do it now!” 

Derek sobbed into Stiles’ skin and bit his shoulder, slowing his movements. 

Stiles pushed back demandingly. “Don’t you dare stop, don’t stop, keep going, fuck you, don’t, don’t stop!”

“Wanted to … ease into it,” Derek panted. “Wanted to make it right … don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles echoed the pull of the Nemeton, his own magic rippling over his skin to twine around Derek. “This is right, do it, do it!”

Derek moaned and lay his face on Stiles’ back. “Okay, Stiles, okay …”

The Nemeton wrapped further around the both of them, coating them in a wave of intense energy. 

Derek’s body shifted, changed and reformed, human to wolf in one seamless transition. 

Stiles sagged under the extra weight suddenly on top of him. Forelegs bracketed his shoulders, paws the size of bread plates gouging furrows into the ground with their huge claws. His asshole stretched around added girth as Derek’s dick changed, too. Harder, pointier, even longer, the bone within it jabbed, causing Stiles to writhe with new sensations. Derek didn’t even pause in fucking him, rolling from one thrust as a human into the next one as a wolf. For someone who’d argued against it, he was already proving fully-shifted sex was his thing.

Stiles was undone. He’d never truly dared believe they’d go this far but he loved it already. Derek was showing the world who his pair bonded belonged to. Stiles wanted him to go deeper, fill him up as far as he could. He was worried for a second there was not enough dick to scratch the itch that was building up inside. He wanted to feel Derek in his throat. He needed it harder, he wanted bruises.

Wrapping his hands around Derek’s forelegs, above the ankle, Stiles stroked fur, gripping and using the support to shove back. He was rewarded with an enthusiastic face nuzzle and a blue eye shining into his own when Derek tilted his head down. Stiles stretched his neck and sighed into the caress, his lips catching on Derek’s muzzle. A zinging thrill tripped down his spine.

Derek snarled and his paws shifted, becoming slightly more hand-like in appearance and his face shifting to something closer to human. Stiles had a moment when he thought Derek was about to change back fully, but Derek stayed as he was, only using his paw-hands to pull Stiles onto his dick in time to his thrusting and his more human lips to mouth haphazardly over Stiles’ shoulders.

Loose and open, being shoved backwards and forwards onto the hardest dick he’d ever had shoved up inside him, Stiles wailed loudly. As he’d only ever had Derek’s it was a slightly moot point, but the baculum in Derek’s dick was doing things to Stiles’ insides even the hardest riding of dildos had never achieved. He was going to be bruised inside and out. The idea made Stiles’ mouth flood with saliva, he was going to be wrecked. Managing to tilt his ass up further, Derek’s paw-hands slipped down around his stomach to help hold him up. The abuse on Stiles’ prostate was so intense it was riding a fine line of being too much to be good. 

Derek moved once more, pushing Stiles’ chest into the ground, shoving the breath out of him. Stiles did everything he could to hold his ass at the right angle, wanting more; more of Derek’s wolf-dick rutting into him with such purpose, of Derek’s fur rubbing across his lower back, of Derek growling above him with each rotation of his hips. The sounds he made rattled around in Stiles’ chest, making his dick drip constantly. 

Stiles was so hard but he never came, the Nemeton taking his sexual energy and leaving him caught up in one long continuous free-fall, a flowing tap of arousal with no end in sight. Stiles didn’t mind, he wanted to give the Tree everything, and he wanted Derek right there with him sharing in their sacrifice. He babbled through squashed lungs, unable to stop praising, begging. “Der, love, fuck, more, Der, more, more!”

Derek growled louder in response, his hips working faster, pistoning into Stiles in brutal strokes that had him falling silent except to grunt at each thrust forward. His legs were numb from the knees down, splayed wide under Derek’s weight. Gravity won out, and even with Derek holding him up, Stiles’ hips collapsed and his legs folded in on themselves. Derek followed him down, back legs bracketing Stiles’ in a crouch that slowed his thrusts to a languid roll that eased the aches somewhat. 

Lungs not as compressed, Stiles started up his litany of encouragement again. “So good, so good, don’t stop my wolf, my lovely wolf. So good, Der, feels so good.” 

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the ground, tucking his chin towards his chest and presenting the back of his neck. Derek made use of it, running his tongue up one side and down the other in a wide slow tongue-fuck. Derek must have changed his face back to a more wolf-like form, because the tongue that licked Stiles wasn’t human. Stiles shivered all over. He wanted that tongue on his junk, with its warmth and so-wet slippery-slide feel. Another lick went down his spine as far as Derek could reach and Stiles realized he’d mumbled his thoughts out loud. 

He began to feel ever so relaxed and his breathing slowed, the Nemeton pulling too much for him to keep up any longer. Dipping in and out of consciousness, he rode the swell of magic with Derek rubbing up inside him, catching on his abused rim and making his eyelids flutter and his mouth fall open in a silent moan. His orgasm, when it finally crested, was uncomfortably dry and felt like falling into a deep sleep while riding a rollercoaster: a vortex of adrenalin drenched sensation, punching him in the gut and ending in total blackout.

***

Stiles came to with Derek still inside him, rocking slowly forward. He was growling, a soft satisfied rumble that could very well put Stiles back to sleep as it vibrated through skin into muscle. He was stiff and sore and numb in places and felt used, but also incredibly loved. An odd pairing but one he could totally get behind. 

Content to be under his wolf and slowly picking up the thread of arousal again, Stiles closed his eyes. The squishing sound of Derek moving inside him was so wet, so slick. And there was so much come, Stiles could feel it sliding down his thighs and sticking his knees into the dirt. There was something entirely too hot about the image of Derek fucking into him while he was out of it, holding him in position when his body went completely lax.

Derek pushed into him a bit more urgently and Stiles hissed, hips complaining. His ass was extremely stretched and his abdomen felt weirdly full. His brain stuttered to a stop as the truth came forward: Derek had knotted him. Stiles wanted to melt at the realization, it was so fucking hot. He’d pictured it, hoped, and now the truth was stretching him beyond anything he could have imagined, and he was sorry he’d been passed out for it. He wanted to be awake to feel the moment when Derek pushed inside and stayed there, unable to leave, caught deep where he should be. 

Managing to get his internal muscles to clench down, Stiles felt the bulge locking them tight together. He let out a long breath, the knot providing a constant pleasure that sent warmth through his limbs. He wanted to praise his own body for somehow keeping Derek's knot inside and not letting it slip out.

Rocked by the slicked push and pull of Derek’s dick going nowhere, and the happy rumble of his wolf above him, Stiles grew hard again. A languid drawn-out fucking this time would be nice, with him doing nothing but lying there. 

As if he’d read his mind, Derek huffed out an amused sound and licked across Stiles’ shoulders, hot fur and muscle rubbing across his back. Stiles almost cried with the contentment his wolf was projecting through the claim; the feeling of complete rightness in having his pair bonded below him, opened up, fucked pliant, and wanting everything Derek gave him. Derek should only ever feel this good. Derek deserved only good things.

Stiles sighed, and then sighed again when the Nemeton took his orgasm. It was just as sharp-edged as the first and the sigh turned pain-filled and slightly distressed. Stiles didn’t know if he could stand the Tree taking from him again. Three times could be too much. 

Derek’s tongue passed over his skin in a comforting touch, hips stuttering in their rocking. Stiles curled the fingers of one hand around Derek’s hand-paw, giving reciprocal comfort as Derek whined, getting closer to the edge. His orgasm finally rushed through Stiles into the Tree, and Derek howled in completion, the sound echoing out into the grove. Stiles was left shaken and strangely empty inside, despite being full of dick and come.

“Oh,” he exclaimed softly, feeling himself detaching from his body. He should have seen this as an eventuality. It had happened before. The Nemeton’s magic swept him away.

***

The fae was laughing, clapping its hands and smiling widely. They were in the astral plane, the air zapping Stiles’ skin. He was clothed and thankful for it, even if the fae itself was all skin and unconcerned joy.

“Well done, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles! Well done!”

Stiles’ insides twisted tightly. “You saw?!” It was an ugly thing, the feeling of violation that spiked through him. His and Derek’s act, one of love and connection for all that it had been forced on them, took on an unpleasant taint. 

The fae pursed its lips, eyes narrowing. “The outcome is what we seek. We witness as we must.”

Stiles bared his teeth. “You don’t have the right!”

The fae stepped closer and grasped Stiles by the neck. “It was sacrifice. We have every right, young fae. You are ours.” It pressed their foreheads together.

Stiles ripped himself out of its grasp, the fae letting him go. “I am not yours!” He trembled with anger, not daring to lash out physically but wanting to.

The fae seemed to be oddly satisfied with his fury. It ran its fingers down Stiles’ arm, tapping against a clenched fist and smiling secretively to itself. “There are many ways to belong,” it told him. “You will see, in time.”

It was creepy and off-putting and Stiles didn’t understand, the resulting confusion effectively robbing him of his anger.

Leaning in, the fae’s breath was a whisper of clean air blowing over mountains. “Rejoice in your actions, for they bring about a change that will have significant reprisals for those who wronged us.” It pulled Stiles over to the Nemeton and stooped low, running its palm over the stump. “Feel it?” 

Stiles squatted down and copied the fae’s reverent touch. There was power in the stump that hadn’t been there before, changing and strengthening its structure. A tiny green shoot sprouted up under his fingers, completely at odds with the dead-looking wood around it. It waved slowly in the astral breeze and several more shoots sprung up along the stump’s edge. They stretched out, reaching for him.

Stiles was instantly delighted, he’d been wanting this for so long it seemed. He looked up at the fae. “What’s next?” 

The fae tilted its head to the side, a pleased expression on its face. “Continue what you’ve started.” 

“This is amazing,” Stiles said, looking back down at the shoots. He could feel the fae’s gaze resting on him and couldn’t help but smile back up at it. 

The fae touched his cheek gently, a smile gracing its own mouth. “Yes, it is,” it agreed.

***

“Stiles? Stiles, wake up!”

He was being shaken. Blindly, he reached out, swatting at the hands making his teeth rattle in his head. “Stop it,” he complained, opening his eyes. 

Derek was glaring down at him. “Stop scaring me half to death!”

Stiles sat up in the snow-free circle he’d created for their sacrifice. His glamor was back on and his whole body ached, reminding him of what they’d been doing together. He smiled, and opened his mouth to tell Derek what they’d achieved.

“This whole thing better be over with because I can’t go through that again,” Derek growled.

Stiles grunted like he’d been punched. Hurt was quickly replaced with scorn. “You trying to tell me you didn’t like it?” he sneered. “Not the impression I got while you were fucking me into the ground.” He scrambled back from Derek and stood up, looking for his clothes and hating the sticky mess that was his ass and thighs.

“What?” Derek sounded exasperated. “No, that’s not what I meant —” 

“Then what did you mean by it?!” Stiles found his jeans but didn’t put them on. He was in desperate need of a swim first. There was a river in the preserve that would suit just fine as it was not completely frozen. He’d get his shirt, sunlight-leap over there, and Derek could go fuck himself.

“Stop!” Derek yelled, grabbing him above the elbows. “What the hell?! Talk to me!”

Stiles scowled. “Let me go.”

Derek held on tighter. “You were unconscious for over fifteen minutes! I was worried I’d hurt you.”

Stiles looked at him askance, wanting to believe. “You didn’t hurt me,” he said, his anger leaving as Derek grew hopeful. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Of course. Nothing to it.” Smiling crookedly, Stiles added, “Just like I told you.”

“It’s over?”

Stiles pursed his lips. “Yep,” he offered, not lying. Because it was over. For now anyway, though more sacrifice was probably needed. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake as he did with Brine and think one sacrifice would cure all. Derek let him go, and Stiles hid a smile. 

“I can smell how utterly smug you are,” Derek told him. “You want to say you told me so a bit more, don’t you?” He seemed oddly resigned to the fact.

“Yes!” Stiles crowed. “Because I did! And you should have listened from the beginning because I was right!” He fist bumped the air and shimmied a bit, not caring that in doing so he was swinging his junk around. “I was completely right, once again!” 

He would have gone on a bit longer, just enjoying the twitching of Derek’s mouth at his antics, but Derek caught hold of him and held him tight, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Stiles hummed in appreciation, welcoming Derek’s tongue to twine with his own. He ran his hands up Derek’s back and pressed against the muscles, very much appreciating being all up in Derek’s very naked space.

“I think I remember something about you fucking me,” Derek murmured.

Stiles was tingling in all the right places, leaning into Derek’s touches appreciatively. “Yeah, I did say that. And we have lots of lube thanks to me, because I am the planning man with a plan.”

Derek led them over to the stump where the lube was, alternating from kissing Stiles’ mouth to nibbling down his neck. “I remember having something to do with it.”

“Something …” Stiles agreed. His leg bumped against the Nemeton and he looked down. The shoots growing in the astral plane were not visible to him now but he could feel them. Suddenly very self-conscious about having sex in the grove, he glanced around. 

“What is it?” Derek asked, instantly on guard and looking through the trees.

“Umm, so …” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. This was going to suck all the good feelings away, he just knew it. “The fae that created me may have decided to drop by recently —”

“What?”

“— and may be here in the grove right now. Or nearby. Possibly.”

“What?!”

***

“Stiles, are you listening?”

Stiles looked up from contemplating the floor. His dad and Argent were sitting at the kitchen table, papers strewn across it, his dad giving him an exasperated look. “Yeah, of course,” he answered, untruthfully.

When he and Derek had arrived back home, Stiles learnt his dad had used the time to peruse the information taken from Brine’s phone, collating it with Argent’s and Derek’s spying enterprise. Reticent to explain their findings when asked, his dad had only said Derek needed to get Scott before they’d discuss things.

Scott was big enough to bring himself places, had been for a few years now, so Stiles had known from the start something was being discussed without his knowledge. When his dad had pulled Derek out of earshot to mumble something to him before he left, Stiles was doubly sure. He also didn’t care.

After he’d been so happy with the Tree starting its second major growth spurt, Derek’s unpleasantness about the fae had ruined things. They hadn’t argued, but Stiles didn’t feel he could share that the sacrifice had worked. It put him in a major bad mood and he just didn’t give a fuck about whatever everyone was whispering behind his back. They could keep their secrets and he’d keep his.

Unfolding his arms and moving from where he’d been slouching against the cabinet, Stiles opened a cupboard door and reached for a glass. Ignoring the eyes judging his every move, he turned on the sink’s tap and held the glass underneath, watching the water rise and overflow. It was cold and refreshing and ran across his knuckles and wrist before going down the drain. Turning the tap off, he brought the glass to his lips, staring unseeingly out the kitchen window while he downed the water in a few large gulps. He turned the tap on again and got another drink. Then another, repeating the actions. Eventually, he left the glass in the sink and wondered over to the table, sitting down onto a chair.

There was a knock at the door.

By the time his dad came back with Derek and Scott in tow, Stiles was looking over the papers on the table, not so much reading as trying to look busy. Derek pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, bumping their shoulders together.

They were one seat short, leaving Scott standing awkwardly near the fridge. Stiles’ dad urged Scott to follow him out of the room and after taking longer than necessary, they returned with an extra chair. Stiles knew they’d been talking, but once again he didn’t care. 

“Perhaps the study would have been better for this,” his dad commented, as he took in their cramped quarters around the kitchen table.

“It doesn’t matter,” Argent disagreed. “This is what we’re here to discuss.” He tapped a paper lying on the table. “Noah made a connection that might give us a pre-emptive strike against the fae hunters.”

Stiles’ dad did a double take. “Now wait a minute, I agreed to no such thing! That boy will not be involved any more!”

“Boy?” Stiles queried, interest slightly peaked.

Everyone shot looks at each other, going for subtle and failing. It was almost amusing. Stiles bet they thought they were being sneaky. 

“What boy?” he asked again, reaching for the paper with one hand, but Scott was quicker, pulling it further out of reach. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He may not be giving a fuck about whatever was going on, but he wasn’t about to let Scott get off with being rude. “Someone had better explain,” he warned.

“Let me,” Argent advised.

Stiles’ dad nodded, frown almost as deep as one of Derek’s best.

“The boy in question is Cotter Robinson,” Argent began.

“Cue?” Stiles looked from Argent to his dad. “What’s he got to do with this?”

Argent pursed his lips slightly. “He’s related to the leader of the group Gavin Brine contacted. Her name is Ramona Meahn.”

“Cue’s related to the hunters?!” Stiles spluttered. “God, this makes so much more sense now.” Here Stiles had been thinking the kid was unlucky enough to fall in with Brine after his dad was killed, but in actual fact he’d always been part of it. “You asked me to help him!” he accused his dad. “A fucking hunter-child!”

“I’ve only just found out about this woman,” his dad tried to explain. “She’s the sister of Cue’s uncle’s wife.”

“Oh! Well then, if the monkey’s his uncle, everything’s fine,” Stiles replied sarcastically. He turned to Derek, wanting back up. Failing that, even disagreeing would be okay, anything but the silent stoic routine. 

But Derek just sat there watching him. It was very irritating.

Stiles snarled. “Why is everyone here? You want to vote on whether to use this familial connection to our advantage? I say, hell yes.”

“It’s not that simple,” his dad pointed out.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” Stiles countered. “Or do you want to wait until we’re taken again? Maybe we can both die this time, is that what you want?”

His dad rocked back in his seat, face loosing all color. 

“Stiles, don’t,” Derek said, finally speaking. “Stop, and calm down.” He tried to put a hand on Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles hit Derek’s hand away and slid off his chair, standing up. The ‘calming by touch’ method wasn’t going to work this time round. “Fool me once,” he tutted, waggling a finger at Derek before stalking away from the table. He got as far as the middle of the room before he rounded on his dad. “Why are you so worried about Cue’s wellbeing? He helped to hold you in a pit. Hell, he shot at me! What’s it going to take to make you realize he doesn’t deserve your pity? He’s a God-damn fae-hunting bastard spy!”

His dad’s mouth was open in shock. “He shot at you? When?”

Stiles flung his hands up in agitation. “That’s what you get from this? Can’t you see it?” When everyone just shared a confounded look, he groaned out loud. He was surrounded by idiots. “He’s working with them! How is this so difficult to piece together?! It’s probably why he stayed in Beacon Hills in the first place! To worm his way into your affections to get at me!”

“He’s a child who just happens to be related to some bad people. You can’t help who your family is.”

Stiles gave his dad up as a lost cause. “Please tell me you can see where I’m coming from?” he asked, looking at Derek for support.

Derek answered slowly. “I can see it.”

Stiles backed into the sink, absently noting the afternoon sunlight hitting his back. “But you don’t agree.”

“You need to think rationally,” Derek cautioned. “If you really believe Cue’s involved, we’ll look into it, but getting angry won’t help.”

“That sounds logical,” Argent agreed. “You should listen to what Derek’s saying.”

“You’ll see that I’m right,” Stiles said. “He’s one of them.”

His dad shifted in his chair. “I’ve already called Cue. He’s at work right now but he’s coming over for dinner. We’ll talk to him when he gets here.”

Stiles rubbed at his eyes, sighing. “You don’t believe me at all,” he accused. Reaching behind himself into the sink, he grasped at the glass of water he'd left there. He took a drink from it, hoping the action would help him see through the film of anger that was beginning to rise. “I’ll prove I’m right,” he offered, trying one last time to make them see sense. “I’ll talk to Cue.”

His dad hit the table with his palm. “Don’t you do it, Stiles! He’s just a boy!”

“Do what? I’m just going to ask a few questions.”

“You’re not to go near him.”

Stiles took a moment before he answered, the weird behaviour everyone had been displaying suddenly very clear. “You think I’m going to hurt him.”

“Tell me I’m wrong in being concerned for his safety,” his dad demanded. “He’s a child, Stiles, unable to defend himself against you.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully, looking down at the water in his hand. Trying to appear casual, he carefully pulled the afternoon sunlight into the glass. The trick was to make it look like nothing untoward was happening. He took a last small sip before the glass started to feel warm, then he stood there cradling it to his chest like a comfort item. “Well, if I’m the bad guy in this scenario, perhaps I should see what I’m capable of.” 

He pushed a tiny bit more with his magic and the water started to bubble in the glass. There wasn’t enough time for anyone to notice before Scott jumped up from the table and lunged at him. 

Stiles threw the water and ducked out of the way. The resulting yell of pain and Scott stumbling into the sink shocked the others enough that they stood frozen where they’d pushed their chairs back. Scott held his hands awkwardly over his face, eyes squeezed shut as tears poured from his eyes. 

Ecstatic his idea had worked, Stiles laughed, though there was an edge of hurt woven through it at having been pushed to protect himself. He dropped the empty glass and it shattered on the kitchen floor.

***

Arriving at the Beacon South Store at the edge of a group of trees that surrounded the store’s car park, Stiles couldn’t help the curl of his lip as he eyed the building. Going anywhere in public made his skin crawl these days. No one was going to see him but just the idea of being around people made him shudder. 

Pulling at his magic, Stiles wove it around himself until he was invisible, the light bending around him, tricking the eye. He crossed the car park and stood outside the sliding doors, slipping in when they opened for a man coming out with groceries. 

The door shut behind him and Stiles shivered once more. He’d been in a few shops the past few months and had hated every one. The air-conditioning played havoc with his senses and the electric lighting and iron in the construction metals made his head ache. Houses were easy compared to big industry.

Double-checking his illusions, even though he knew they were on as tight as he could get them, Stiles scanned around for Cue. The store was small enough that he could see from one end to the other, the aisle shelves just below head height. Beacon South Store was run by a couple who enjoyed the good ol’ days of greeting every customer with a smile, knowing them by sight if not by name and they expected their employees to reflect their values. Stiles was relatively sure Cue spent most of his time out the back. 

Walking in that direction, Stiles edged around a mother and child. The toddler, holding onto her mother’s leg, eerily turned her head and followed Stiles with her gaze as if she could see him. When he almost walked into a display of cans while trying to move hastily away, she giggled. Un-nerved, and hoping it was just a strange child thing, Stiles slipped through the plastic sheeting separating store front from back and looked around. 

It was cold in the back room, heating obviously reserved for the customers. It wasn’t freezer room temperature but noticeable enough that Stiles used his magic to stop himself from feeling the cold. It was instinctual, like breathing. And so useful. The guy who was working in the back stacking trays of vegetables had breath puffing from his nose and mouth and would have freaked if he’d seen the same coming from Stiles, only for it to look like it came from nothing.

“Cue?” the guy called out. “Bring the dollie round, would ya?” He wiped off his hands. “I need to move the pallets.” He kicked an empty wooden tray by his feet. Several more were nearby. “Lazy shit, probably too busy jerking off to hear,” he mumbled before raising his voice. “I swear, Cue, get it back here already, yeah? If you’re taking a break, I’ll break something of yours!”

“Quit with the threats, Troy.” Cue’s voice came from around the storage bay wall and he followed, pushing the dollie ahead of him. “I’ve had better than what you can dish out, believe me. You’re small fry in a pond so big you don’t even know you’re swimming in it.”

“You’re full of shit, Cue. You speak tough but you’re just a little fucker who don’t know how to behave,” Troy shot back. “You’ll end up in juvie, then jail, while I’ll be here, owning my own store in years to come.”

Cue snorted. “Oh, you’ll be here all right. Just not owning anything more than what you do now. Ella calls you a Lifer, man. Here for life. Stocking roots and shoots in a back room. You’re really going places.” He let go of the dollie just before Troy had his hand on the handle and it over-tipped, landing with a clang on the concrete floor. “Whoops. Looks like you’ll have to bend down and get that. Mind your back, heard it’s been going on you lately. All that work on your knees after hours, huh?” 

Troy got so red in the face it looked painful and his fists balled up by his sides.

Cue’s eyes were full of mirth as he backed away. “Careful, your heart could give out. Old fella like you.”

“I’m only seven years older than you, you little shit!”

“Really? I would have thought more.” Cue squinted. “Must be the lighting in here. Gives a guy bloat, I guess.”

Troy looked like he was going to murder Cue, his mouth opening and closing while he tried to think of a good comeback, his aggravation spilling out of him in a fine mist.

Taking advantage of the situation, Stiles reached out with his fox ability and reeled in the rest of Troy’s emotions, tasting sugar-sweet rotten fruit, ripe for the picking, in un-surprising hatred. The shock was the hatred was self-directed, Cue had hit his mark deeper than he knew. Troy did dislike Cue though, that was for certain; a loathing that verged into jealousy, adding a spice that was oh, so nice. 

Stiles liked Troy. He could have a lot of fun with someone so conflicted. As he had a few moments to spare, Stiles crossed his arms and settled in for the show, wondering who would throw the first physical punch.

Just before things descended into an animalistic brawl, an elderly lady stuck her head through the plastic curtain dividing the shop from the back. She eyed the tension in the room with a practiced ease and the corners of her mouth hardened just that little bit. Stiles was close enough to see how her lipstick had feathered out into her skin, following her age lines.

“Cue! Break time. You’ve got an hour because the delivery truck just called. Flat tire on the highway.”

Cue grinned, delighted. “Ella! You’re my princess, I swear. I was just saying how I could use a break.” 

Stiles smothered a snort of laughter.

The elderly woman, Ella, focussed on Troy. “You about done?”

Troy rubbed at his elbow, his face having lost only some of its redness. His eyes were shielded when he looked at her. “Will be once I put the pallets out back.”

Ella nodded. “Okay, when you’ve done that, you can finish Cue’s cleaning. You haven’t completed that have you, Cue?”

If Cue’s grin got bigger it would split his face. “No, no, I haven’t. Got the loading bay and cold storage to do.”

Ella nodded once more. “Right. Get it done, Troy!” Her tone softened when she added, “Oh, and Cue? Don’t come back before four, you hear? We got to make sure your hours are correct, though I really did appreciate the overtime last week.” 

Cue did a flourishing bow, head near his knees, one hand out to the side, causing Ella to laugh. “Get away with you, scamp!” Her head disappeared back through the plastic.

Troy rounded on Cue, ready to pick their fight right back up, but Cue was laughing as he walked away. “You heard the boss, Troy! Better get to cleaning!” Cue clicked his fingers as if just recalling something. “I think there’s some mopping I haven’t checked off the list. In the staff toilets, if I remember correctly.” He did another bow, only this time it was a mocking half bend with a little wave. “I was saving the best till last, aren’t you lucky?” He scooted around the corner wall.

Troy looked likely to follow Cue, his anger having reached a new peak. 

Reaching out, Stiles pushed him in the back, sending him into the shelving holding the vegetable trays. Troy grabbed hold on instinct, causing several trays to crash onto the floor, carrots and potatoes rolling everywhere. He got his balance back, only to stare at the mess. “Aw, hell no!”

Stiles chuckled, an echo coming out of nowhere.

Troy whirled, slipping and grabbing the shelving once more. “Who’s there?!”

Stiles didn’t bother to answer. He took one last sip of Troy’s emotions, sighing at the heady and perfect fear he was experiencing, before heading out to follow Cue.

***

Cue was headed for the tree line out the back of the store, walking carefully around the slushy patches on the parking lot gravel, therefor making it easy for Stiles to catch up. 

With a large ski jacket zipped up tight and a backpack over one shoulder, Cue looked the picture of someone done for the day as he whistled to himself. He wasn’t as sure of himself as he pretend though, checking around before heading into the trees.

The path Cue followed was regularly used. Relatively free of the snow that lay under the trees, the ground was hard dirt but muddy in places and made Cue pay attention to where he put his boots. As he walked a bit further in, the path evening out into a picnic area, complete with wooden picnic table and attached benches. Someone had been there before him and had swept the table and one of the benches clear of snow.

Cue swung one leg over the bench, sitting sideways and pulling out a lunchbox, thermos, and to Stiles’ surprise, a second-hand book. “Holden, my man, we got an hour today,” Cue almost sang. “Ella is a doll!” His face clouded for a second. “But Troy’s a pimple-dicked asshole.” Rubbing his hands together, he blew on them, opening the novel to where an information pamphlet for the Beacon Hills Police Department was acting as a bookmark.

Stiles shook his head and sighed. He’d lost his anger somewhere along the way.

Cue stilled, eyes darting around. “Someone here?” His fingers twitched on the book pages.

“You’re right about Troy,” Stiles agreed.

“Stiles?” Cue asked, putting his book down. “Where are you, man?”

Stiles dropped his illusions and stepped up to the picnic table. He wasn’t sure what he felt when Cue smiled in genuine pleasure to see him.

“Hey! What’s going on?” 

“I need you to come with me.”

“Where? I’ve got an hour’s break, any longer than that and I’m likely to get in trouble.” In spite of what he said, Cue was already packing his bag. He tossed his book in on top and zipped it closed. Slinging it over a shoulder, he tilted his head in confusion. “I didn’t see your jeep in the lot.”

Stiles grinned. “Still checking?”

Cue flushed and ducked his head. “Habit more than anything. So, where to? What’s going on? It’s not your dad, is it?”

Stiles placed his hands on Cue’s shoulders, his grin getting that little bit wider but not kinder. “Do you trust me?”

Cue mulled it over, then shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

***

When they arrived in Stiles’ backyard after a quick sunlight leap, Cue looked about wildly. “Holy fucking shit balls!” He gaped like a fish, staring at Stiles. “You’re like a genie or something, aren’t you?!” Not waiting for an answer, he turned around in circles, flattening the snow under his boots and muttering to himself, “Fuck me,” over and over.

Stiles found Cue’s reaction immensely entertaining for some reason and was smiling when the back door opened and Derek and Scott came out. They stopped on the porch, Scott staring in surprise. All of Stiles’ hilarity fled.

Cue whirled to face the porch, causing more surprise when he backed up to Stiles’ side. He eyed Derek and Scott warily. “They’re the ones from that pack-thing, yeah? In the preserve? The guys who saved you? We didn’t get to doing names.” He was whispering, unaware every word was audible to the werewolves.

Stiles nodded. “That’s them.”

Cue leant closer, his mouth hardly opening when he asked, “Who’s the doofus-looking one, standing like he’s got a stick up his ass?”

The description was apt. Scott had his arms over his chest, looking at the both of them with an indescribable expression. 

Stiles snorted his laughter, watching as Scott’s face darkened. “That would be Scott.”

“Uh huh. And who’s the one looking at you like he wants what you’re selling?”

Stiles caught Derek’s gaze and was floored by the warmth he could see. “That’s Derek.”

Cue side-eyed him. “Huh. So you obviously buy from him, too.”

Stiles didn’t answer, totally more involved in the silent conversation he was having with his wolf. All the hurt from before when Derek didn’t back him up fell away.

“Eye-fucking. Who’d have thought it would be this uncomfortable to watch?” Cue muttered before walking right up to the porch, snow crunching under his boots. “Where’s the Sheriff?” he boldly asked.

“Inside,” Scott answered.

“Alright then. You going to move? It’s cold out here and I’m freezing off my good bits.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose high enough they were in danger of floating off his forehead. He never did all that well with abrasive people. That was Stiles’ speciality.

“Just go in,” Stiles told Cue, waving him up the steps.

Scott went so far as to open the door for him, unable to let his manners slide. Melissa would have been proud.

Cue looked him over. “Dude, you’re weird. You know that, right?”

Scott gave Stiles a glance, the meaning of which went right over Stiles’ head, then he followed Cue inside, the door shutting behind them.

“You didn’t hurt him,” Derek stated.

“No. But I thought about it,” Stiles admitted, walking up the steps. 

Derek met him at the top, welcoming Stiles into his personal space, hips resting against each other, touching from chest to knee. He was so warm that Stiles melted a bit, hugging Derek around the waist. Here was a furnace Stiles wanted to rub up against.

“Your dad was worried.”

“Mmm. I bet Argent was working out how to kill me,” Stiles hedged, not wanting to talk about his dad.

“Possibly. It was hard to tell. Not that he’d get the chance to even try,” Derek answered, a deep-chested growl emphasizing his displeasure at the thought. 

His rumbling made Stiles pay very close attention. Pressed up against all that hard vibrating warmth gave him ideas. He smiled a little, picturing his wolf taking Argent out on his behalf. “What about you?” he asked. “Were you worried?”

“No. I’ve got you in here,” Derek pointed to his head, “and in here.” He lay his hand over his heart. “I knew nothing would happen.”

Stiles scoffed. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say, I didn’t even know that.”

“It’s the truth.” 

Any further argument Stiles may have been going to make was stopped by Derek kissing him. Very quickly the world narrowed down until there was nothing but the stroking of tongue, the press of lips, and Stiles and Derek murmuring quiet noises of contentment between the two of them as hands edged up under shirts and thighs pressed against mirroring hardness. Stiles got his hand down Derek’s jeans, palming him and making Derek moan. 

“Guys, you’re needed inside,” Scott said as he opened the back door, “and … God, seriously?? I don’t need to see this.”

The door shut with a bang.

Derek smiled into Stiles’ neck. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he whispered, breathing harshly through his nose.

Stiles whispered back, “And never will he.” He removed his hand from Derek’s jeans. “Possibly now is not the best time for this,” he observed. Just the idea of Scott in that way had dampened his arousal.

“Possibly,” Derek agreed, letting Stiles go.

“Good thinking with the Scott-scenario,” Stiles applauded him. “Way-mucho mood killer.”

“You’re welcome.”

***

Cue was sitting in the living room across from Argent, the smell of instant hot chocolate wafting from the mug he held between both hands, his backpack by his feet. He laughed when he saw Stiles, but ducked his head and took a long sip of chocolate rather than say anything obvious under the frown Stiles’ dad gave him.

Stiles stayed by the kitchen doorway, Derek’s shoulder brushing up against his as he folded his arms and leant against the doorframe. He frowned over at Scott, who was eyeing the two of them like their cooties were catching.

Cue finished his drink and wiped at his mouth. “Sooo, I’m supposed to tell you what I know about Pa's crazy family, yeah?”

Stiles’ dad nodded. “It would be helpful.” He was talking to Cue, but looking at Stiles with an indecipherable expression. There’d been a lot of those looks going around lately and Stiles was getting mighty sick of the way they made him feel like he’d disappointed, disgusted and/or caused concern just by being.

“Okay, it’s pretty simple,” Cue began. “My uncle married into a hunter family with no idea supernatural shi— stuff existed. He didn’t tell us when he found out. Some kind of bull-dust code or something, if I remember correctly.”

Stiles ducked his head, smiling at the twitch Argent tried to hide.

“So anyway, when Mom took off it was just Pa and me, and Pa got roped into hunting. I didn’t know what was going down until he got killed.” Cue trailed off, staring at the wall with a look of loss that was all the more raw because of how young he was, before he blinked and shrugged away the past. “Pa’s brother didn’t want me, Mom’s family is non-existent and so is she, and there was no one until Brine. The rest is history.”

“What is your impression of Ramona Meahn, you’ve met her, right?” Argent asked him, bulldozing over the poignant pause everyone else had affected.

Cue looked up from his hands, the fire Stiles remembered from when they first met in the preserve in his eyes. “She’s evil. You may not believe it exists, but it does and it’s her.”

“Oh, we believe,” Scott chimed in.

Cue eyed him, clearly not all that impressed with what he was seeing. “Well, that’s something, I guess. She’s the reason my uncle wanted nothing to do with me. Took one look and told him I wasn’t worth anything. Practically gave me to Brine so child services wouldn’t come looking. By that point I was just glad to get away from her.” Cue pursed his lips, flicking an apologetic look towards Stiles. “Still believed her lies though. Hers and Brine’s.”

“What lies?” Argent asked.

“That my pa was killed by something supernatural. I mean, yeah, he was, but Ramona may as well have done it herself. She’s the reason he’s gone.” Cue’s knuckles were white where they clenched around his mug. He blinked his eyes fast and hard, turning to Stiles’ dad. “You guys know the lies that Brine told me. It’s all a bunch of cra— nonsense, but I didn’t know it then. Thought I was doing good. He made me feel, I don’t know … important. Like I mattered.”

Stiles’ dad took the mug away and squeezed Cue’s shoulder, leaving his hand there.

Argent cleared his throat. “Indoctrination into hunting includes a lot of mental and emotional manipulation. Don’t think you’re the only one who’s believed what they were sold. It’s especially hard to spot the lies when it’s family who tell them. Even family you don’t like.”

“You sound like you’ve been there,” Cue observed.

“I have.”

“You’re a hunter? What the hell?” Cue’s eyes became wide. “Stiles??”

“He’s an ex-hunter, if such a thing exists,” Stiles said unconvincingly, not willing to sing the man’s praises. 

“Chris is here to help us,” his dad added, with a look thrown Stiles’ way just for good measure.

Cue looked around the room at everyone. “Why, what’s going on?” 

It took Stiles a few seconds to click that Cue had directed the question at him and everyone was waiting for his answer. “That’s a really long story,” he fielded. “There’s not time to tell it just now.”

“But you will at dinner?” Cue asked, persistent in a hammer and anvil kind of way.

Stiles felt everyone’s collected holding of breath. “As much as I’m able,” he allowed, rolling his eyes. “Come on, I should get you back before Troy decides you’ve nicked off and tells on you.”

Cue’s face darkened. “He really is the biggest ass— jerk. The biggest jerk.” He picked up his backpack and went with Stiles through the living room, back outside to stand in the snow once more. “Oh, hell yeah! Are you going to do that thing again? Teleportation is so cool!”

Stiles clasped Cue’s shoulder, feeling the sunlight and his magic bridge the gap between where they were and where he wanted them to be.

“What else can you do, man? Can you fly?”

***

Dinner was anti-climatic. 

Stiles faded into the background, content to watch everyone relax before they got down to discussing less appealing things than what pizza toppings they preferred. He ate slowly, aware his food intake was being watched. He’d opted out of the extra-cheesy goodness everyone else had dived for as soon as it was delivered, but had been pressed into a salad and his standard fruit drink. He’d had a silent standoff with Derek, Argent watching on, before Stiles had conceded defeat and placed a mouthful of greens in his mouth, chewing them thoroughly while trying not to glare at Argent. 

As long as the man was helping to keep his dad safe, Stiles would try not to begrudge his presence too much, but if he kept eyeing him like a curiosity there would be words. Scott was still hanging around too, an awkward thorn in Stiles’ side which he tried to ignore to the best of his abilities. 

Doing the same with Cue was almost impossible. The kid had bounced into the house after he’d finished at the store and practically glued himself to Stiles’ side, much to the bemusement of everyone. Stiles knew he must have been looking shell-shocked by the time they’d sat down to eat, because his dad made sure Cue was sandwiched between himself and Argent, while Stiles was an island all to himself with Derek on one side to give him space from Scott, and his dad as the buffer for Cue on the other.

So there they were, everyone chewing away, and Stiles in a surprising not-too-angry zone he hadn’t felt around people in months. Trying to ignore how annoying three of the people sitting near him were was harder than it looked, and all his energy was going into that. He kept getting searching looks from everyone, bar Cue. Argent seemed to be waiting for him to do something but his dad and Scott were the most blatant, with Scott openly staring. He kept looking between Stiles and Cue, a tiny frown settling between his eyebrows the longer Cue prattled on and the longer Stiles didn’t tell him to shut up.

Derek had a hand on Stiles’ knee for most of the meal and Stiles was betting it was probably the main reason for his zen. That, or the interrupted kissing from earlier he kept replaying in his head. Curling his hand over Derek’s, he absently ran the tips of his fingers over Derek’s knuckles. Inviting Derek to stay with him in the sycamore tree for the night felt like the right thing to do. In his mind, he was already there. 

Derek coughed, jolting his leg hard against the table, startling Stiles and making everyone grab for their drinks. In the commotion Derek gave Stiles a look, touching his nose in the pretense of scratching it; a subtle reminder of how he could smell everything Stiles was feeling, as could Scott.

Stiles stopped daydreaming and focussed back on his salad and the yummy, yummy lettuce.

Stiles’ dad took a sip of his drink, completely inured to the weird behavior of his son. If it had rubbed off on Derek, it was just to be expected. “How’d the rest of your day go, Cue?” he asked.

Cue looked away from his battle with Scott over the last slice of pizza they’d both reached for. His hand relaxed as he opened his mouth to answer. 

Scott whipped his own hand back, taking the slice with it and giving a smug look of satisfaction. He could have taken the slice at any time, but Stiles got the idea he was having a bit of fun. It was the kind of thing Scott did with Liam and Mason. The kind of thing Stiles used to do. 

Cue sat back, glowering, and Stiles laughed as he sipped on his drink.

The dinner became very quiet. 

Stiles edged down in his seat and cast a quick look around, aware of everyone’s stares. “What?” he said defensively, not sure he wanted to know.

“Bro, you laughed.” Scott was slightly awed, happiness evident behind his confusion. “Like, a normal laugh.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, his calm starting to ebb even with Derek by his side.

“Cue, your day?” Stiles’ dad asked again, one eye on Stiles and the other on Scott.

“Oh, my God! My day, man! You should have seen it!” Cue enthused, shooting Stiles the biggest grin. “A certain jerk has been been given the week off due to ‘nerves’ and refusing to be alone in the back storage room!” He began sniggering and had to take a moment to calm down. “Apparently, while I was on break, Troy started raving about a ghost tripping him into the vegetable shelves!”

Stiles’ dad pinned Stiles with a raised eyebrow, fatherly instincts obviously working just fine. 

Cue was holding his stomach, his eyes bright with mirth. “Ella, that’s my boss, said she’d practically shoved the leave form into his face to get him to shut up!”

Stiles tried acting clueless and innocent as his dad continued to eye him.

Cue leant over the table, smiling hugely at Stiles. “Dude, you’re the frickin’ best! Troy was apparently so white, Ella was thinking of calling an ambulance, afraid he’d pass out and start convulsing or something!”

Stiles sighed. He couldn’t say Cue was welcome because the whole Troy thing hadn’t been planned. Troy was a bully and he’d just been reacting on gut instinct. That was all.

“What did you do?” Scott asked, back to the alpha-ass who judged Stiles for breathing.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be like that!” Cue argued, his smile still wide enough to swallow a whole cow. “I know it was you with your freaky invisible shi— stuff, invisible stuff, you do.”

Scott blinked. “You can turn invisible?” 

Cue pulled a face at him. “Do you have a brain? Of course he can! How come you don’t know this?” He turned to Stiles, while pointing at Scott. “Seriously, how did you come to hang with such as him?”

“Because we’re best friends!” Scott yelled, startling everyone as he hit the table with his hand.

Cue shook his head, his mouth twisting with humor. “Ah, I don’t think so,” he teased, obviously not believing. He looked at Stiles to confirm the joke.

Stiles rubbed at his neck, looking away. He had nothing to say. From the corner of his eye he could see Scott’s face fall, hurt radiating from him in a thick cloud of sour goodness that Stiles reeled in without even trying to.

Stiles’ dad cleared his throat. “Cue, go to the study, please. I’ll fill you in on the story Stiles promised you.”

Cue nodded, looking like he’d stepped in it big time. Argent steered him in the right direction out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

Stiles’ dad put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You too, Derek.”

Stiles looked at Derek, not wanting him to leave. Derek leant in until his mouth was touching Stiles’ ear but only kissed it, saying nothing. Stiles silently begged him not to go but Derek just up and left with Stiles' dad, taking the remaining calm vibes with him and leaving Stiles alone in the kitchen with Scott. He sighed, dropping his head.

“Stiles?”

He reluctantly looked up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know where to go from here.”

The confession, coupled with Scott’s ernest expression, made Stiles bite back the retort he’d been about to give. 

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this,” Scott continued. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, not without making you angry. And you don’t help. The water hurt.” It was very clear he didn’t just mean physically.

Stiles’ fingers tapped on both knees as he tried to figure out what to do, what to say. He would not apologize. “It’s not easy for me either, Scott. You don’t make it easy.”

“I don’t do anything!”

Stiles felt the anger tip over. “God, right there, Scott! You don’t do anything?! You think you’re justified in whatever you do and I’m always in the wrong.”

“No, I don—”

“Go on, finish that sentence, I dare you.”

Scott shut his mouth, jaw clenched tight. The most annoying defiant edge sparked off him as he sat glaring across the table.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “We’re not going to agree on anything, not now, possibly not for a long time coming. I’d say I’m sorry about that but I don’t know if I am.”

“You would have been before,” Scott said snippily.

“Before what, before I became fae? Guess what, Scott, you were different before you were bitten. Stop blaming me for being what I am.”

“I don’t!”

“Then stop judging me because of it. Stop looking at how I’ve changed. I told you before and I thought you’d listened but you obviously haven’t, so listen to me now!” Stiles was waving his hands around, frustration edging his anger up a notch. 

“I don’t do that, I don’t judge you,” Scott insisted.

“It’s all you ever do anymore! It’s in every single action and reaction! Even now, you sit there judging me!”

“I do not!” Scott folded his arms and scowled. “You’re just being how you always are now, a jerk.”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. The hypocrisy was too much. Scott couldn’t even see it, he was so sure of himself, so sure he knew best.

“Well, then,” Stiles spat out. “If you’re not blaming or judging me, you’re just an asshole. Congratulations.” He shoved his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen towards the study, calling back over his shoulder, “Go home. You’re not welcome here.”

***

Stiles was high up in the branches of the sycamore tree, strong illusions cloaking him from curious eyes as he hung upside down over the roof of his house, arms swaying out into space. 

Derek was discussing plans in the study. Stiles had been there too, but he’d told his dad he was stupid for not being assertive enough with the fae hunters. Here was a chance to be preemptive, when did that ever happen for them? They should take the hunters down as soon as possible, not wait for them to do something illegal. 

Needless to say, his dad had not agreed and apparently Stiles’ ‘attitude’ was not helpful, so he’d been kicked out. 

So what if they didn’t even know if this Ramona Meahn was in Beacon Hills? Who cared if all the information they had was circumstantial and assumptive? They had worked with far less many times before. Everyone should trust Stiles’ leaps in logic by now; he was always right.

“Stiles, I’m coming up.”

Derek didn’t give Stiles time to move before he was sitting in the bower below, dumping the blankets he was carrying and spreading them out. “It may not worry you, but it’s in the minuses tonight and I don’t feel like freezing.” He looked up, gaze settling on the space where Stiles was. “I can’t see you, but I know you’re there.”

Crawling across the branch he was on, Stiles hung above the bower before dropping down, landing lightly and crouching, waiting. 

Derek hadn’t been able to catch the decent, but after a little while he found where Stiles was. “You staying like that?”

Stiles remained hidden.

Derek sighed. “Okay.” He wrapped a blanket that resembled a brown woolly behemoth around himself and scooted back against the sycamore’s trunk. To Stiles, he looked like an incredibly hot caveman framed in fur. “I can feel you and smell you, you know,” Derek advised. “You didn’t block those two. Not sure if you could block the claim, even if you tried.” He looked quickly over in Stiles’s direction. “That was not an offer. Do not try that. Ever.” 

Stiles edged closer. Derek rolled his hand out from within the blanket, leaving it lying on the tree, palm curled up in invitation. Stiles touched his fingertips to Derek’s.

“You can take my emotions, if you want,” Derek spoke to the sky. “I know you do it without asking, but it never bothers me. I can feel when you do and it doesn’t hurt, Lydia was right about that. It’s not that much different from me using scent to understand someone. Did you ever think of it that way? I was just wondering if you had, because I’m betting you haven’t.” Derek was rambling. He never did that. 

Stiles bridged the remaining distance between them, Derek unfurling the blanket and lifting his arm for Stiles to worm underneath. He then dropped the blanket down over the two of them, arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles shifted his legs, curling them up to rest against Derek’s hip.

“I heard what happened with Scott,” Derek continued. “I’ll talk to him if you’d like, though I don’t promise anything.”

That was unexpected. Like Stiles’ dad, Derek wasn’t overly fazed when Stiles fell out with people because it’s what he did, who he was. Derek had never offered to be the go-between before. Maybe he had because it was Scott. Everyone saw him as the Second Coming, the True Alpha who was pure of heart. Stiles personally thought being named as such had just made Scott more cock-sure and stupid. 

“Stiles, do you want me to?”

Stiles nodded, his chin moving across Derek’s shirt, agreeing more for the sake of answering than needing Derek to accomplish anything positive. He was fine with how things were. 

“Your dad won’t use Cue to get close to Ramona, not when we don’t know enough about what they’re planning. The fae hunters have to make a move. Cue is to stay as far away from them as he can. If he’s contacted, he’s to tell your dad or you immediately.”

Stiles had known that was the only way it was ever going to play out. Safe. Reactive. 

Derek kissed the top of his head. “So the question is, what are we going to do? Because while the law prevents your dad from doing anything, it sure as hell won’t stop you and I’d prefer to be in on any insane plan you come up with.”

Unravelling his illusions, Stiles gave Derek an affronted look. “Any plan I come up with will be awesome, and you know it!”

A smile tugged at the corners of Derek’s mouth, relief in his expression as he looked Stiles over.

“You really want to help, Der? There’s an eighty percent chance there’ll be an element of law-breaking, possibly ninety. You should be aware of that before you go pledging yourself.”

Derek snorted. “I’m also going to have a say in any plan we devise, don’t think it’s only you who’s the brains here —“

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“— and I’m not sitting this out, my place is with you.” Derek held Stiles’ chin with fingers and thumb. “We work best together.” His eyes flicked down towards Stiles’ lips. “Or haven’t you worked that out yet?”

The kiss was languid and full of suppressed heat carried over from their make-out session on the porch and Stiles’ subsequent imaginings at the kitchen table. It built slowly, movements sure from hours spent mapping each other, desire tangled through with comfort and unity. 

Wrapping them both up in illusions, just enough to be hidden, Stiles then shut down the rest of his magic. This time was about them, no fae magic tying them together, no fox abilities. He was going to do this through touch and love alone.

When they were divested of clothes but still under the blanket, a feet of dexterity in itself while up in a tree, Stiles slid on top of Derek, hands threading and locking them together as they rocked slowly, enjoying the closeness of bodies and how well they fitted against one another. He worried at the claim mark on Derek’s neck, pulling the skin with his teeth to hear the moans dredged up from deep within his wolf, to feel them rattling through his chest and down his spine.

“Stiles, I want, can you …?” Derek pushed up his hips, lifting Stiles to get his point across.

Stiles chuckled. “You bet I can.”

Hands had to let go of each other first, harder done than thought, but finally Stiles fumbled through his jeans pockets, lube a fiercely held possession when found. Dropping it over the edge of the bower was not an option. 

Derek didn’t laugh this time, only lifted both knees and tipped his head back when Stiles’ fingers entered him through blind touch, rotating at the wrist and pushing slickly in with a relentless drive forward, just how Derek liked it. Stiles marveled at the heat, the way Derek clenched then parted around him so prettily. He gently scratched at muscle, pushing a blunt nail carefully against soft walls. Derek shivered, mouth open and eyes deep in pleasure.

Stiles slowly pulled his fingers out, keeping the lube inside. He rubbed the furled skin around Derek’s hole, his imagination painting a pretty picture of his sticky thumb leaving a smeared circle, outlining his intended destination. It was dark under the blanket, too dark to see without fae sight but he didn’t mind, pulling the blanket further up his shoulders, liking the small heated space they were creating under it. He trailed fingers across skin, palm cupping balls and rolling them gently, feeling their weight as Derek shifted impatiently. Stiles bent down under the blanket, placing kisses where his palm was, Derek twitching with each one, open and wanting. Corded muscle pulled as he strained to keep his legs folded back. 

Moving his head back out from under the blanket, Stiles placed his hand above Derek’s groin, pressing in a soothing motion until Derek breathed out a shaking breath and looked at him.

Sliding into Derek’s wet and tight heat was always so overwhelming, Stiles had to focus not to let go straight away. Give him a few seconds and he was okay, had gotten better at lasting, but Derek knew to keep perfectly still until Stiles managed to collect his scattered thoughts. When he leant down for a kiss, draping Derek’s legs over his shoulders, Derek shoved his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and pushed up with his hips, down with his legs. Stiles edged his knees under Derek’s ass as they moved against each other, timing off but working it to their advantage.

Derek panted through Stiles’ thrusts, “Tell me … you cloaked us?”

Considering they were pretty much concealed by the blanket and the night and Stiles was no fool, he snorted into Derek’s mouth and bit down on his lips. “No, Der, … wanted to give … the neighbors a show … why? You mind?”

Derek groaned, partly exasperated, partly because Stiles hit that spot inside him. They both took note, keeping the angle, slowing to a gentle roll of hips to create continuous pressure, both of them now in sync with the other.

“Wouldn’t put … it … past you,” Derek teased with a laugh, the words not really meant.

Stiles stopped his motion, held the insistent pressure right there. “Would not.” The part of him that owned Derek and loved it, loved it and reveled in the fact it was reciprocated, that it was wanted and not forced in anyway, came to the fore, demanding he explain to his wolf lest there be misconceptions. “This? What I see right now? What I get to witness as you come undone? This is all mine. And I do not share.” The truth in his words was painful, such was the intensity. 

Wrapping his fingers around Derek’s dick, Stiles tugged and slid over the length again and again, enjoying the sound and sight of release, the way Derek’s lips slackened, stayed open for Stiles to kiss into them as his hand grew wet and their stomachs tacky and warm with Derek’s release. He tightened his hold, garnering a further groan, and spoke against Derek’s teeth. “Do you get it?”

Derek nodded, face flushed, running his hands soothingly over Stiles’ shoulders and through his hair, touch unravelling the knot of apprehension that had settled behind his ribs. Stiles shuddered, resting his head down on Derek’s chest as he came with territorial intent within his wolf.

They breathed, poised between moments.

Lowering Derek’s legs from off his shoulders, and lamentably slipping out at the same time, Stiles looked at Derek with a slow satisfied smile. The come on their skin didn’t even bother him right then. “Do we smell enough of each other right now for your wolfy nose or should we go again? Don’t want those pesky neighbors getting any ideas.”

Derek smoothed a hand down the side of Stiles’ face, fingers curling around behind his ear and up into his hair to tug lightly at the strands at the back of his head. He pulled Stiles down until their noses touched. “We’re good,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to do that again as soon as we’re able.”

“Reckon I can make you orgasm without actually coming?” Stiles mused. “I’ve read it’s possible with prostate stimulation. We could give it a go. The bonus is having multiple orgasms, just like a woman. Who’d have thought?”

Derek snorted. “Give it your best shot.”

“We’re not going to get any sleep, are we?” Stiles asked happily.

“You have a problem with that?”

“Hell no, just an observation is all.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue is reading 'The Catcher in the Rye' by J.D. Salinger.


	7. The Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dam. A frozen lake. And a new enemy.

Stiles and Derek were waiting.

Derek was sitting, arms folded, head on the headrest of his crappy little rental car, for all intents and purposes seemingly content and napping. Stiles knew it for a lie. He could see the glint of eye stoically watching him from under heavy lids.

Stiles was not stoically doing anything. Annoyed at being reminded he needed to wear what anyone else who wasn’t a magical fae would wear in public, he was pulling at his jacket and the stupid strangling scarf Derek insisted he wear because the day had yet to break away from its bleak clouds. He was also wearing a track in front of the car as he walked from one end of the parking lot to the other, all the while keeping a watch on the Beacon South Store. 

Cue was late.

“That’s it.” Stiles turned determinedly from his last circuit and bumped into Derek.

“It’s five minuets, Stiles. Leave him be.”

“It’s seven minutes, if you want to get technical about it —”

“Which you do.”

“— and I don’t feel like waiting any longer. Please move!”

Derek stood his ground. Stiles went to walk around him, only to be blocked. He gave back stink-eye in the face of Derek’s exasperated stare.

“We’ve been here half an hour, Stiles, we would have been here longer if we’d come when you wanted to, another five minutes isn’t going to change things.”

“It’s eight minutes now, and I hate waiting! You know this!” Stiles waved his hands around. 

Derek caught his wrists, thumbs stroking the pulse points. “You can be patient when you want to be.” He licked his lips, Stiles tracking the movement of the tip of his tongue. “Very, very patient.”

Stiles swallowed. They were standing within each other’s personal space as they always did, pulled together by what felt like so many forces that he was again surprised they’d made it as many years as they had before jumping each other. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head. “Nice try, won’t work.”

Derek shrugged, still wearing the look that made Stiles want to take him somewhere private. Apparently it wasn’t enough that they’d spent last night like they’d drown if they weren’t as close to each other as possible, unable to stop until after they’d exhausted the lube and themselves. Now Derek had to go and act all … wantonly at him.

Stiles knew exactly what Derek was doing. Distracting him from charging the store and pulling Cue away from his job. But knowing didn’t stop the remembering. Up in the sycamore, skin and heat and pleasure rolling over and in him again and again and again. 

He closed his eyes. “Derek, please.” He wasn’t sure if he meant ‘stop’ or ‘keep going’.

“Give him five more minutes,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ ear. “Better yet, give them to me.” He pulled Stiles around to the back of his car.

Derek had parked on the un-tarred part of the parking lot which backed up against the trees leading towards Cue’s picnic area. It was over-planted and dense and no one was within hearing range. Stiles got a sneaking suspicion this might have been planned.

Pulling back on the hand towing him, he stopped. “Not in the God damn car, Der, there’s not enough room to spit, let alone get frisky.”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. “Frisky? I’m not a cat.”

Stiles shrugged. “Who said anything about cats? I was talking about wolves. I know of one who can get incredibly frisky when he sets his mind to it.”

Sending him another look, this one more heated and full of intent, Derek kept pulling, leading Stiles into the tree line. 

Stiles complained, half-heartedly, while imagining getting his hands on the ass walking in front of him in those incredible butter-soft jeans he loved so much. “He’ll wonder where we are. What if he comes looking?”

Cue knew they were coming to see him. A first. Derek had insisted.

Pushing Stiles up against a tree, Derek got in close, looking over Stiles’ shoulder towards where they’d just been. “I can see the store. I’ll hear him.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “If you’re listening out for him, I’ll be doing something seriously wrong.” 

Working his fingers under the hem of Derek’s shirts and jacket, into the top of his jeans, Stiles shoved his hands down as far as they’d go. Derek wasn’t one to wear loose pants, even now when he had actual colors in his shirts and chose fibers that made Stiles go into tactile overdrive.

Derek watched him, holding on to Stiles’ arms just above the elbows. He grunted, his breath coming faster as Stiles pulled him closer, groins rubbing through too many layers. But otherwise he did nothing.

Stiles went to tip his head back and show his neck, but the tree stopped him. He ignored the thud he made, the sharp pain that quickly followed, and Derek’s badly concealed amusement. “Come on, Der, you got me here. You’ve got five minutes, remember? Make ‘em count, big guy.”

“I’ll make them count,” Derek growled. 

Pulling the scarf away from Stiles’ neck, he nipped the exposed skin, holding Stiles’ jaw and slowly pushing his head to the side, baring his neck further and demonstrating how it was done. He raised one expressive eyebrow before he dipped down, lips curling into a hidden chuckle as he kissed along skin. Stiles thumped him on the back to get him to focus on what mattered, and Derek snorted before kissing his claiming scar. As apologies went, it was pretty good. 

With Derek helping and Stiles being vastly invested in shimmying out of his clothes, he lost his jeans as if by magic. It helped that he’d refused to wear boots, staying with sneakers which were easy to toe off. It all boiled down to Derek flicking the top off the lube and sliding inside him with a rough motion in less than two minutes. Give or take a few seconds. If Stiles was counting. Which he was not. 

Instead, he was grasping at a branch above his head, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and working with the increasingly harsh thrusts Derek was using to make him merge into the tree. He adored being reamed by his wolf, every punch forward skimmed up his spine into the back of his skull.

Stiles had to remember to breathe. He choked out, “Fuck! God, Derek!” and released his grip on the branch, dropping his body down. 

Derek grunted and caught his lips in a bashing of mouths, not so much a kiss as it was an inhalation.

“Faster, harder,” Stiles ordered when they came up for air. “Want to feel you later, know where you’ve been.”

Derek growled and shoved up into him so hard Stiles felt the beginnings of pain. His laugh was punched out of him and turned into a groan as Derek bit his claim mark, bruising the skin.

Orgasm torn from him in short hard pulses, Stiles was hardly finished when he pushed Derek away, dropping his feet to the ground as Derek slipped out of him with an obscene wet noise. He took a moment to appreciate his wolf completely undone, clothes all askew and a wild feral look on his face. Derek’s dick stood up against his stomach, framed by jeans he hadn’t even bothered to push down all the way, slicked and shiny with a lovely deep purple on the crown, flushing into red down its length. Stiles’ mouth watered.

When Derek made a move towards him, Stiles hissed loudly. Derek stopped, a pained whine coming from behind fangs. 

Stiles smirked and turned them both, slamming Derek against the tree, chest first. Derek grunted and shifted back a bit, but made no other protest as his jacket was shoved down, trapping his arms by his sides. The neck of Derek’s shirt was tugged aside and Stiles’ eyes glowed as the claim mark came into view.

“Mine, mine, all mine,” Stiles chanted to himself, fastening sharp fae teeth on his wolf’s scar, popping open the skin, fingers clawing into Derek’s chest through his shirt as he hugged him tight. 

Stiles tasted blood and licked it up, able to stomach the iron because it was his wolf’s. Whether that was a magical or psychological thing he neither knew nor cared. Derek’s drawn-out cry reverberated against his lips and he heard come splattering against the tree. Derek’s knees shook and Stiles shoved his own into the back of them, shoring Derek up and pressing against the ass of Derek’s jeans, the rough fabric on his spent dick making Stiles shudder. Mouthing the claim mark some more, he hummed in satisfaction while stroking Derek’s chest. 

Derek was holding onto the tree with his claws. “Jesus, Stiles,” he managed to say after a long moment. 

Sharp fae teeth receding as he pulled his glamor back on, Stiles kissed Derek’s neck gently. “That was different,” he agreed. Sure, fast and hard they’d done before. And outside? Most definitely and yes, please. But within yards of a public place? Not so much. It was especially strange after his declaration of no one seeing Derek’s pleasure but him. 

“Didn’t cloak us?” Derek asked, already guessing the answer.

“No.” Stiles would care more when he wasn’t licking Derek’s blood from between his teeth and he stopped feeling so vastly satisfied. He rested his head against Derek’s back. “Well, as time spent waiting, that’s up there as a method of diversion, that’s for sure.” He patted Derek on the shoulder. “Points to you, my good sir.”

Derek laughed softly, loose and happy, making Stiles feel proud he’d had a hand in it. He undraped himself from where he hung on Derek’s frame. 

Turning around, Derek shrugged his jacket on properly. “What was it you said at Chris’? The wondrous wonder that is me?”

“I was out of my mind with lust,” Stiles pointed out. “Anything I said can’t be used against me.”

Derek pulled him into a hug and nosed up the side of Stiles’ face. “You love me,” he practically purred.

Stiles chuckled. He enjoyed sex-drunk Derek. “Yes.”

“I love you,” Derek continued. “And I always will.” He radiated a deep calm that was very appealing.

Stiles didn’t want to say anything that may break Derek’s peace, so he settled on a truth. “I’ll love you, forever.” Then he snorted, because he couldn’t help it. “‘Oh, my love. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’”

Derek groaned. “And the moment is gone.” 

“What? No, the moment is still here, just humorously praised through apt use of sonnet,” Stiles protested.

Derek didn’t even blink. “Please don’t.”

Stiles tilted his head. “That’s a red flag, Der.” 

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“I have wet wipes in the car.” Derek looked pointedly at Stiles’ groin. “I’ll go get them if you stop. You can wait right here.”

“Fine.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I won’t try to educate you in the benefits of having a detectable sense of humor. Go get the wipes.”

Surprisingly, Derek didn’t move, only stared at him with a curious expression crossing his face, Stiles picking up on a strange happiness that didn’t seem to match with the situation. It had an odd feeling mixed in, as if Derek was feeling nostalgic but thinking about whatever it was made him sad at the same time. 

Before Stiles could pry further and try to work it out, Derek bounded off, not even bothering to do up his jeans.

“I hope there’s a little old lady out there and you flash her!” Stiles yelled, having to have the last say, even if he most definitely did not want anyone seeing Derek’s junk. That was for him alone.

Derek’s laughter came back through the trees.

“And of course, that’s what he finds funny,” Stiles grumbled.

***

Stiles was sitting on the hood of Derek’s rental car when Cue came out of the store, looked around, then tore over to them like he was being chased, ignoring how slippery the ground was. He skidded to a stop, his eyes having a slightly wild shine to them. 

“You guys need to get out of here, right now! They’re coming!”

Stiles slid off the car, Derek at his side before his feet hit the gravel. “Who’s coming?”

“The crazies who work for Ramona!” Cue’s eyes flittered over the parking lot, noting each car and narrowing on a man who was walking slowly towards the store entrance and hadn’t looked at them once, too concerned with where he put his feet. “She called me, dude, they’re here. She wants to see me. This is not good.”

Derek pulled out his phone, while Stiles put both hands on Cue’s shoulders. “They’re not here right now, are they?” he asked.

Cue checked again. “No, not that I can tell. But I haven’t met all of them!”

His nervousness was not helping Stiles, who was sitting on a multitude of anxiety himself. He’d been hoping to discuss getting in contact with Cue’s family and understood how the kid was feeling, but the fact it was happening now was something they could use to their advantage.

“You haven’t met her, Stiles. She manipulates you and you don’t know it, she’s that good at it,” Cue continued. “Your dad told me to stay away from her, but they’re coming to pick me up and take me to her.”

“Let them.”

Cue twisted out from under Stiles’ hands. “What?”

“Listen, Cue, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We need to get info on them and you’re our way in.”

Cue bit his lip, hesitating before rolling his head on his shoulders and standing up straighter. “Okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

“We can’t wait for them to try to kill you or your dad,” Cue said, echoing Stiles’ argument from the night before. “This’ll help. It will help, won’t it?”

Stiles nodded. “Heaps.”

“But only if I find out something good.”

Stiles hummed, more admission of truth than anything he would say out loud. “We’ll be right here.”

“You going to follow me?”

Derek stepped up to them, phone call ended. “We will.”

Stiles caught his eye. They both knew how hard tailing someone while going unnoticed could be.

“Then you’d better hide before they arrive,” Cue determined. “I’ve got this.” He turned and walked back towards the store entrance.

Derek led Stiles back to the car. 

When they were sitting in it, Stiles feeling like his knees were up around his ears in the small confines, Derek pulled out a novel from behind his seat, earning himself a skeptical look. 

“I’m waiting for my partner to get back with the shopping,” Derek explained. “And you’re going to be invisible, so get on with it.”

“Bossy.” Stiles pulled his illusions around himself.

“I’m not helping to get food, jerk is the epitome of my character,” Derek retorted blithely. Stiles’ snort of laughter caused him to smile into his book for the next few minutes, until he glanced out the car window. “They’re here.”

Stiles looked over and saw Cue getting up from the bench seat outside the store entrance as two females walked towards him. One of them, a young girl who was wearing a knit cap, moved in for a hug, which Cue gave back with an air of reluctance. 

Shifting in his seat, Stiles complained, “I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Cue will tell us later, stay put,” Derek ordered. 

Stiles pouted, even though Derek couldn’t see him do so.

“You’re not getting out of this car, Stiles, so stop sulking.”

Stiles sighed and shifted around again, noticing as a man got out of a white van and moved with purpose towards Cue and the two women. Stiles’ blood stopped flowing, ice hitting his veins and making him take a quick breath. “Holy God,” he cursed, hand flying to the door handle. “I’ve got to help him.”

Derek’s fingers came down on his elbow, slid off, found a better purchase and held tight to his jacket. “What the hell, Stiles?!”

Stiles was thinking a mile a minute as Cue backed up, trying to unobtrusively put some distance between the three who were now flanking him. “The big tank there, it’s the Hulk.”

Derek looked over at the store. “Who?”

“He was with Brine the day I tricked him.” Stiles squirmed in Derek’s hold. “Let go, Der, Cue can’t go with them, that guy is bad news.” Stiles couldn’t believe he was seeing the massive landmass who’d given him more than a few sleepless nights of worry since disappearing out of the preserve the day Brine had been sucked into the Nemeton.

“No. Stiles, you can’t just go over there! What are you going to do?”

“Anything but nothing!” Stiles opened the car door and tumbled out, his jacket slipping from Derek’s grasp.

“Stiles!” Derek hissed out, opening his own door but severely hampered by what he could do after he got out.

Stiles moved back a few feet from the car. “Sorry, Der, this one’s on me, I know.”

“Don’t, Stiles, please,” Derek begged.

Stiles wove silence around himself and sunlight-leaped over to Cue’s side. 

The older woman, who had short brown curls framing her cheekbones, was saying with a strained smile, “Come on, Cotter, your aunt wants to see you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going,” Cue retorted, making a valiant effort not to look over at Derek’s car, looking anywhere else but at the help he probably thought wasn’t coming. Stiles placed an invisible hand on his shoulder and Cue flinched in shock, but he covered well, pointing to the CCTV camera installed above the store’s entrance. “What are you going to do, physically take me? Not a good move if Ramona is still as paranoid as I remember.”

Hulk stopped from where he’d been slowly moving forward, and Knit Cap girl sighed, frowning. “Cue, I know she was unkind the last time you saw her —“

“Unkind?!” Cue was incredulous. “She dumped me with a fucking psycho!” 

Stiles pressed down on his shoulder. 

Cue breathed in, then let it out. “I don’t know why she’d want to see me when she made it obvious she hates my guts.”

The girl shook her head then placed her hand on her cap, pulling it back into place as it slipped sideways. “No, it’s not like that. She’s just always so busy she can be abrupt at times. You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” Cue shot back. “I’m going inside and telling security you’re trying to kidnap me.” As there were no security guards in the store it was a false threat, but Cue played it well, with no hint of the lie showing on his expression.

The older woman threw up her hands. “This is getting us nowhere! Cotter, you’re family, family with knowledge of this dinky little town we find ourselves in. Ramona wants to talk to you to get the lay of the land, that’s all.”

Cue snorted. “I bet. What’s she hunting now?”

“Shut your mouth, before someone hears you!” the woman ordered.

“Or what?” Cue sneered right back. “You’ll do it for me?”

Derek chose that moment to walk by, looking down at his phone, seemingly texting, before sitting himself on the bench seat Cue had been waiting on, paying them no mind. 

Stiles had to smile. 

Both the woman and girl dismissed him with barely a glance, but Hulk watched Derek far longer than Stiles was comfortable with, shooting a glance around the parking lot as if expecting to see someone else. 

The woman put her hands in her jacket pockets. “Okay, Cotter, we get it,” she said soothingly. “Ramona can come by your place later, the home where the four other boys are staying. She can introduce herself to your carers.”

Cue went very still under Stiles’ hand.

“She got a call from the police department here in town asking if she’d take you in, now that they’re aware of your orphan status and you’re in their records. Not a smart move by the way. She told me she’s thinking she was a bit too hasty in saying no, said she may change her mind, take you back with us, all legal like.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on Cue’s shoulder, hopping he knew it meant that would never happen.

“I’ll go with you,” Cue agreed after a significant pause, “if you tell me where we’re going first.”

“We’re staying up on Reddick Mound, do you know it? The area is so posh,” the young girl answered. She pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and the knit cap further back on her head. “The house is huge and has these massive bushes out front. Remember the cubby we had out the back of —”

“Bonnie, shut up,” the older woman snarled at her. 

Bonnie shot her a dark glare. “You shut up, Stefanie. There’s no need to threaten. Cue’s family, just like you said.”

Stiles was watching Derek, who’d angled himself around in the seat and was still apparently texting, though the phone was tilted in their direction.

“We’re not going there, anyway,” Stefanie sniffed. “Where we’re headed isn’t important. What’s important is that you come with us, Cotter, so come on already.” She turned and walked over to the white van, hoping up into the driver’s seat and turning on the motor. She worked the vents, angling them her way before putting her hands over them, rubbing them together before scowling over at Cue and Bonnie.

Cue moved forward slowly, Stiles going with him, hand still on Cue’s shoulder. 

“Don’t mind Stef. You know how she is,” Bonnie apologized, bumping her shoulder against Cue’s as they walked.

“A raging bitch,” Cue replied, trying not to dislodge Stiles’ hand.

Stiles looked back at Derek, who was still sitting but obviously fighting a battle with himself. His eyes, under a overhang of brows, were fixed on Cue and the area around him.

Sliding open the van’s side door, Bonnie climbed in. “Coming?” she called out, sitting down on the nearest seat as Cue hesitated. 

Stiles took his chance. He squeezed Cue’s elbow once then let go, climbing into the van and settling on the seats at the very back.

Cue sat behind Bonnie, who turned to him with a grin. “I know you’re worried, but don’t be. Everything will be fine.”

“Sure, and pigs might fly out of my ass,” Cue sniped back, causing Bonnie to break into giggles. 

Hulk slammed the van door shut, effectively silencing her, and climbed up into the front passenger seat. Turning, he eyed Cue over his shoulder, not looking away. It was very much the way he’d acted when Stiles had climbed into Brine’s car last year and Stiles was betting he had a gun and was willing to use it, just like he’d had back then, too.

Cue had jumped at the final-sounding clang of the van door and Hulk’s staring had him sitting ramrod straight. 

Leaning forward, Stiles touched his shoulder once before withdrawing. 

Cue visibly relaxed, sinking into his seat. “You got anything to eat in here?”

***

Stiles paid little attention to the conversation Cue and Bonnie had as Stefanie drove them north through town. He hadn’t seen Derek’s car in all the time he’d been watching out the back of the van, causing him some concern. 

They were coasting along the north-west roads, about half an hour out from the interstate connection, when Stiles started to feel strange. The Nemeton was tapping at him, prodding and twisting inside. At first, Stiles thought something was wrong with his illusions at the preserve, but very quickly he came to understand this was about him. The Nemeton was trying to wrench him back to its side. 

“Not now,” he breathed out silently. He’d be back, he wasn’t leaving the county. Trying to convey as much to the Tree, Stiles opened up their connection the slightest bit more, hoping to soothe the magic, but the Nemeton swarmed into him, taking him by surprise. 

Stiles’ breath left him in a great whoosh as he toppled back, sliding sideways and feeling as if he was being taken apart molecule by molecule in order to merge through the back seat. His vision blurred and his lungs screamed. Struggling for air, Stiles rammed his shoulders into the corner of the van, holding on to the upholstery with all his strength, fighting the sensations. Just when he thought he was about to black out, there was a snapping of tension and the Tree’s magic released him. Left shuddering and gasping, Stiles prayed his illusions were holding. 

As he wasn’t paying attention, the momentum of the van coming to a stop sent him into the back of the seat in front of him, then onto the floor with a thud. He stayed there for a few seconds, worried someone heard his landing. When no one grabbed him, Stiles ignored every part that hurt and pushed upright. He was alone.

Stumbling towards the door, Stiles flopped onto the seat next to it, rubbing his eyes until he could see properly. He had an ache that spanned the bridge of his nose and both eye sockets. 

Squinting out the windows of the van, he saw Cue and the others a short distance away, walking along a cleared concrete path. A metal hand rail snaking along it on the left side was barely visible under the banked snow as it twisted around the base of a mountain.

Taking a moment to contemplate where they were, Stiles took in the concrete dam that rose above everything. The closest end of it was hidden from view by the curve of the mountain Cue was following. The other end butted up against the mountain range on the other side of the valley. 

Possibly one of the smallest dams ever built, it was still considered pretty consequential for Beacon Hills, and every school child over the age of nine visited the site for three consecutive years of elementary school. Stiles had gone only once. Lobbing rocks over the barrier fence into the reservoir at the top of the dam turned out to be something the school didn’t want repeated.

The group, Cue in tow, turned the corner and were lost to sight. 

Stiles slid out of the van and shut the door, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He looked at the blank screen, about to call Derek, but then paused. He should let Derek know where he was, That was obvious. But Derek was going to be furious at him for dumping their plan of sticking together.

Putting his phone away, Stiles started forward, only to stop and wobble on his feet as everything swayed around him. His phone rang and he fumbled for it, putting it to his ear as he stared straight ahead, trying to orient himself.

“Stiles, where are you??”

“Derek,” Stiles breathed out, thankful Derek hadn’t risked calling him until now.

There was a slight pause before Derek asked, “Are you having a panic attack?” 

Stiles could practically feel the concern coming through the phone, comforting in its familiarity. “No.”

Derek waited a beat before asking, “Where are you?”

Stiles wondered just how angry Derek was about to get. “We ended up at the dam.”

Another significantly tight pause. “Is Ramona Meahn there?”

“Um, I don’t know?” Stiles looked up at the mountain, following the path with his eyes. “They took Cue along the base of it and I started to follow but then you called, and here we are.”

“Where are you, exactly?”

“With the van.”

“Stay there. I’m coming. Breathe.”

After Derek hung up, Stiles stared at his phone. It was going to take a little close to an hour for Derek to arrive and a lot could happen in that time. He looked along the road, back the way they’d come. Derek was going to be so mad with him.

Stiles jogged slowly towards the path. 

As he got closer to the dam he sensed a problem; there was iron and steel in the construction, layered under the concrete. This was the largest concentration of iron he’d ever come across and an uncomfortable itch was forming under his skin. It didn’t help that on one side of the path was the steel railing and on the other, separating the public from a nasty tumble onto the dry river bed below, was a huge chain-linked fence which rose out of the snow and rolled over the top of itself almost fifteen feet above. Stiles hoped he wasn’t making a big mistake.

It was incredibly quiet as he jogged along the path. The city was some miles away and nothing stirred as he passed. No animals or birds, though the area was thick with trees and shrubs. The path itself was deep in cold shadows cast by the mountains on both sides. Stiles doubted sunlight ever touched the ground during Winter. 

Coming up to the turn in the path that would take him around the side of the mountain, Stiles slowed to a walk. Hulk came around the turn from the other direction and stopped, staring at him. Stiles stilled, hands held out slightly in front of him. Too late he realized his illusions were gone. When he tried to pull them back on, they slipped out of his control like wisps of wind.

Hulk was so huge and self-assured that even when he was still, he oozed danger. It brought back memories of the last time Stiles had met him and the silent deadly back-up he’d provided for Brine. None of that had changed in the months since. Hulk was still a towering mass of extreme threat.

Stiles backed up a step. Being in shadow, he couldn’t just sunlight-leap away. But even if he turned and ran, Cue would be left on his own. For some reason that didn’t sit well with Stiles.

Hulk’s face showed a variety of emotions. Shock was prevalent but something akin to worry crossed fleetingly through his eyes before everything settled into an indifferent mask. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he stated. Of all the things Stiles expected him to say, that wasn’t even close. “You can’t be here,” Hulk reiterated.

Before Stiles could ask what he meant, Cue’s nastier older cousin, Stefanie, came around the bend. She did a double take when she saw Stiles, curls bouncing around her face. “That’s him! Hans grab him!”

Hans, previously known in Stiles’ head as Hulk, frowned, hesitating, but then moved forward.

“Hey now, no need for violence, Hans,” Stiles cautioned. “Stop right there.”

Unbelievably, the man stopped. Both Stiles and Stefanie looked at him in surprise.

“Just stun him already!”

“No,” Hans refused. Whatever weapon he carried was concealed and Stiles hoped it remained that way as Hans watched him with a calm assessing stare. “I think he’ll come if we ask him to. Like he said, there’s no need for violence.”

Stefanie looked like she wanted to argue, it seemed to be her default personality trait, but she grunted and then nodded for Stiles to go before her. Stiles wasn’t sure what he was doing as he edged past both of them and started up the path, trying to seem confident and not unnerved by Hans’ looming presence behind him. 

They walked without talking, their footsteps dead on the path with no echo to be heard in the valley, the snow sucking up any errant sound. The closer he got to the dam, the worse Stiles felt. His magic was sluggish and there was a strange disconnection with the Nemeton he couldn’t seem to get past; a constant ache within the core part of himself. 

Accidentally slipping on the path, Stiles almost took a header into the snowbank before Hans steadied him with a quick grip on his elbow. He let go as soon as Stiles righted himself, and Stiles mumbled his thanks without thinking.

Hans eyed him and, if Stiles wasn’t entirely imagining it, he seemed concerned. His gaze travelled to Stefanie, moving further ahead of them, tired of their unhurried pace. Voice low, lips hardly moving, he asked Stiles, “Are you okay?”

Stiles shrugged warily. “Sure.” A metallic tasting film had grown on his tongue and his mouth was dry, but he refused to swallow.

Hans pulled a slim water bottle from his jacket pocket and held it out. “Here.”

Shaking his head, Stiles said, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“It’s just water but it has electrolytes in it, see?” Hans took a sip then held it out once more. “It’ll help you.” 

Stiles gave him a questioning look.

“You’re looking pale. I’d say you’re in shock from the iron.” Hans nodded to the dam. “The boss isn’t stupid. She doesn’t want any fae coming upon her unexpectedly.”

This whole situation was surreal, Stiles was beginning to think he’d passed out in the van. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to think. “If she’s worried, why didn’t Ramona meet Cue at her house? Surely she’s fae-proofed it.”

Hans shot him a sharp look. “So, you’re here for the boy. And you know who Ramona is.”

Stiles winced. What a way to give up information to the enemy. He was doing so well.

As they kept following the path, Stiles was unable to keep from eyeing the water bottle and wondering how stupid he’d be to take a drink, even if Hans had drunk from it before.

Hans held it out to him once more. “I swear it’s only water.”

Taking it, Stiles sniffed the contents. One sip confirmed the sweetness of electrolytes. Taking another, he felt like swooning as water filled his mouth, rinsing it of the horrid iron taste. He spat a few times, then took a larger gulp, water trickling down his throat as pure energy. The bottle was empty when he handed it back, and Hans was smiling as he pocketed the bottle.

Stiles wiped at his mouth self-consciously. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay …”

“No, don’t mention it.” Hans tipped his head towards Stefanie, who hadn’t bothered to turn back around to check on them. “It would be better for both of us.” They were at the base of the dam by then and Hans waved to the staircase in front of them, the only way to the top. “After you.”

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stave off the shuddering response to being so close to so much iron. “You think I’m going to run away?”

“I think you may fall and I’m going to have to catch you.”

Stefanie was already halfway up and was watching them, hands on her hips. “Come on!” she called.

“She always this impatient?” Stiles asked, putting a foot on the first step. He refused to touch the railing.

“Only when she wants to impress,” Hans answered.

Stiles climbed, a million questions buzzing in his mind. “Are you related to Cue?” he finally asked.

“No.”

“Ramona?”

“No.”

“Are you mercenary?”

“In a way.” 

Stiles had to stop climbing as a wave of lightheadedness hit him. 

Hans moved up closer behind him, gesturing for him to keep going. “No more questions.”

Stiles trudged up the last steps, arriving at the top where Stefanie was waiting. To his relief, there was sunlight cutting through the valley at the top of the dam, piercing the grayness of the winter sky. He wanted to sink to his knees gratefully. Instead, he subtly walked into the rays. Neither Hans nor Stefanie noticed his intake of breath as sunlight pored into him. It wasn’t enough to stop the iron effects, but he was no longer in immediate danger of passing out where he stood.

The top of the dam was completely cut off from the public, fencing looped along the reservoir edge as far as the path extended and signs proclaimed fines and jail time for trespasses. A huge bared gate stopped anyone from getting onto the dam itself. 

It all seemed a bit pointless to Stiles. 

If anyone really wanted to get to the water, they only needed to continue into the forest that surrounded the reservoir. It was too big to fence the entire thing. After a decent trek, the tideline would be right at the feet of anyone who was so inclined. But perhaps it was more to stop anyone from jumping off the dam or going for a swim from its base when it was warm enough and the water wasn’t blanketed under a layer of ice as it was right then. 

The startling stretch of thick whiteness went from one mountainside to the other. It called to Stiles and he imagined being out in the middle of its expanse, being under it, floating along in the watery currents. It would be dark and all-encompassing. Peaceful in its silence, and freeing. Stiles could picture himself surrendering to its depth, sinking and lying at the very bottom in a sleep that would last millennium. He wondered how long he could survive in those extremes. 

The noise of water slapping brought Stiles back from his musing and he looked towards the dam wall. Waves bigger than he would have thought rose up from under the ice and fell against the concrete, the continual force stopping the ice from forming a solid edge against the dam. 

Hans touched Stiles’ shoulder, startling him and making him all the more aware of the iron pushing down on him from all sides like a huge invisible hand. He was subjected to a strangely intense stare before being directed to follow the path that continued from the steps. 

Stefanie was marching along it with sure strides, and when Stiles looked further along to where the path abruptly ended in a snow bank, he noticed Cue standing with his cousin, Bonnie, and another woman who must be Ramona Meahn. The three of them had turned to watch Stiles come up the steps and must have seen the distraction caused by the ice and water. He hoped it had only looked like someone taking in the scenery and not a fae being beguiled by nature.

Cue’s eyes widened as Stiles drew closer, shock casting a paler over his skin. Bonnie had her phone out, looking at it then back at Stiles a few times before nodding to herself. Pocketing her phone, she shot Cue a nervous glance, stepping closer to him after casting a careful look in Ramona’s direction.

Ramona herself was tall and imposing, her ebony skin almost golden in the Winter light, her sharp features framed by striking eyebrows. Her eyes seemed to stare right through Stiles into his soul, finding him wanting if the disgusted twist of her mouth was any indication. Dark hair was pulled severely off her face and when she turned to Cue, Stiles saw that it trailed down her back and was clasped at the base of her neck with a fancy clip with a sharp stick poking through it.

“Well now, Cotter,” she chided quietly, “tell me why of all times and places, does this thing show up here and now?”

Cue looked at Stiles, then back at her. “How would I know? I don’t know who he is.”

Ramona’s hand shot out, catching Cue across the cheek and sending his to his knees. 

Stiles went to jump forward on instinct but was held by his scarf clenched in Hans’ fist. He’d come up behind Stiles and the restricting move went unseen by the others. Stiles didn’t fight, the unspoken warning enough to get him watching rather than reacting.

Ramona turned her gaze back to him. When he left Cue on the ground nursing his cheek without help, she tipped her head, considering. “Perhaps you were telling the truth, Cotter. Tell me, do you know what this is?” She waved a hand towards Stiles.

There was instant dislike on Stiles’ side. It wasn’t that she was speaking about him like he was an object rather than a person, he knew that tactic and it didn’t provoke him. It also wasn’t because she’d hurt Cue. The simple fact was this was yet another person who thought they could steal the Nemeton’s power. She may have crossed the country to find Brine, but Stiles doubted it remained Ramona’s main motive now she had the dossier Brine had written.

Ramona turned back to Cue. “Well? Do you?”

Cue muttered under his breath.

“Speak up, Cotter. Don’t make me repeat myself a third time.”

“No,” Cue said with noticeable distaste. “I don’t know who he is.”

“I said what, not who,” Ramona tsked. 

She walked closer to Stiles, who was restrained from moving away by the same hand that had stopped him making a mistake only minutes before. Hans was an immoveable wall at his back, almost choking him with his hold. Stiles had always hated scarves. 

“This is a supernatural creature,” Ramona advised, coming to a stop a few feet from him. “It looks human enough, but believe me, Cotter, human it is not.”

Standing up, Cue dropped his hand from his cheek, revealing a handprint and a red line where Ramona had grazed his face with her slap. Stiles’ eyes went down to Ramona’s hand, noting the rings she wore. They looked as sharp as she did. She was twisting one around her finger as she watched him.

“These creatures, no matter their subspecies, always try to live like humans if they’re capable of looking enough like us. It’s mainly a way to get close, close enough for them to break humans down, get them to trust, to stop believing the things that go bump in the night are the things that could hurt them. Will hurt them.” Ramona turned to Cue. “Come here. This is an opportunity not to be missed.”

Cue walked closer slowly. He looked at Stiles before daring to speak up. “I don’t think he’d hurt anyone, Aunt. He looks like he’s about to fall over, there’s nothing to him.”

Ramona hummed, looking Stiles up and down. “You have a point. But Gavin warned about this one’s particular resilience. Could be he hides his strength behind a seemingly weak sham for just such a purpose as I’ve said. Now, Cotter, you said you don’t know this creature?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m curious as to why it’s here, then. Shall we ask?” 

Ramona kept switching her attention from Cue to Stiles, and Stiles noted her expression didn’t change much between them. He was tempted to reel in her emotions but the iron dampening his magic was interfering with his fox ability, too. 

“It will be a difficult thing, to find out the truth,” Ramona advised. “Do you know why?”

Cue shook his head.

“This creature is a fae and they live to lie. I’m sure you’ve heard of fairies, Cotter, but the truth is far darker, the fae more ruthless and bewitching than any fable or story makes them out to be. He may look sick and hardly able to stand right now, but in normal situations he’s capable of ripping the skin from your bones with hardly a thought, of making you bleed internally without lifting a finger against you.”

Stiles scoffed aloud at her accusations and was silenced by Hans shaking him a little. 

Cue stared at him, and Stiles couldn’t tell if the kid believed Ramona or not. “Normal situations?”

“Well, yes,” Ramona continued, seeming to like having an audience if her smile was anything to go by. She motioned towards Stiles with one hand. “You mentioned his appearance. He’s obviously in discomfort. It’s why we’re here, Cotter. Fae can’t stand iron. There’s enough in this dam to re-make the Eiffel Tower. If this creature wasn’t trying so hard to just stay upright, we’d all be dead right now. Gavin was most explicit in his teachings.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles was unable to stay quiet any longer even with Hans strangling him. “Gavin Brine’s a complete nutcase.”

Ramona’s mouth lifted in a tight smile. “Where is Gavin, Stiles?”

“I have no idea,” Stiles sneered. Hearing her say his name was slightly shocking in a way it shouldn’t have been. Brine wouldn’t have left out that detail.

“We all know that’s a lie,” Ramona admonished. “But it’s not surprising that a fae is lying. Speaking of, I’m still not entirely sure why you’re here. Care to enlighten?”

“I like the view.”

Ramona’s smile flickered before fading away. “You’re making this too easy,” she warned. She turned to Bonnie. “I’d apologize, as I know you had hopes of a different outcome, but then I’d be the one who’s lying.”

Bonnie frowned. “Wha …”

Ramona flipped her hand up into her hair and pulled the stick out of her hair clip. In a fluid move, she thrust it towards Cue, who blinked at her then down at his stomach. He put a hand under his ribs on the right side. He was wearing too many layers for any injury to make itself apparent until he moved his hand, and Stiles could see the blood smeared on his jacket. Cue took one look at his hand and sat down heavily.

“You fucking bitch!” Stiles hissed out. He wrenched himself out of Hans’ grip and tried to reach Cue, but Stefanie stepped in his way, pointing a stun gun at him. 

“Don’t,” she warned. 

“There we are,” Ramona smiled. She squatted down near Cue and pushed a finger on his shoulder, toppling him backwards.

Landing in the snow, Cue turned his head and looked across with panic-filled eyes. “Stiles?” he pleaded.

“Still saying you don’t know him?” Ramona mused, a dark twinkle in her eye as she watched Cue like he was a fish she’d just caught. Then she turned that look on Stiles. “I was wondering how to get you out in the open. Gavin suggested your father, but that’s what he did and repeating past mistakes is a fool’s journey. But when I learnt the town’s own Sheriff, your father, was the one looking out for poor little Cotter? Well, it doesn’t take a genius to connect those dots, big and bright as they are.” Standing up, she straightened her jacket hem, pulling it down over her hips. “I’m sure you came here hoping to gain some kind of leverage to use against me, but let me tell you something, Stiles.” She stepped over Cue, brushing past Stefanie and her stun gun. “I will win this war, not you.”

“What war?!” Stiles exclaimed. “There is no war! There’s just you and your fucking psychosis!”

Ramona tutted at him. “There’s no need for that. Here, I’ll let you help him.” She waved both Hans and Stefanie away, stepping back and gesturing for Stiles to join Cue.

Stefanie looked incredulous but lowered her stun gun. “Are you kidding me? He’s what we’re after!”

Ramona watched Stiles drop down at Cue’s side. He placed a hand on Cue’s chest, and glared up at her. 

“He’s only part of it, dear.”

“Okay, then let’s do this!”

“Stefanie, you need to look at the big picture. Yes, we could do as you suggest. But then we’d be reduced to learning though interrogation and autopsy only.”

“What’s wrong with that?” 

Ramona started walking away, holding the stick up in one hand and giving it a twirl. Her clip was still in place, hair tied neatly back, not a single strand compromised. Stiles understood then that the stick was a weapon, its purpose devised before Ramona met with Cue. This was a woman who planned for many eventualities. 

“You have to think about the enemy, Stefanie,” Ramona said over her shoulder. “Stiles may be the first, but he won’t be the last fae we hunt. We must take the advantage to learn what we can by using more than one means. Observation, for example, lends itself to all sorts of possible learning situations.”

Stefanie glared at Stiles, clearly furious, before she turned and grabbed Bonnie. “Come on, Bon, move it!” 

Bonnie had been standing in shock since Cue was stabbed. She opened her mouth, her eyes connecting with Stiles’, before she was forcefully turned around and shoved down the path. 

Hans remained waiting until all three had gone down the dam steps before he kneeled and opened Cue’s jacket in order to lift his shirts out of the way. “It’s a shallow puncture.”

When Stiles checked, the bleeding was already slowing. But Cue still had a hole in his side and had passed out. “How can you tell for sure?”

“Experience. And knowing she wasn’t aiming to kill him.” Hans folded up the bottom of Cue’s shirt and pressed it against the wound. “Pressure is always advised. Also a few stitches, because it tore on exit. Get your werewolf friend’s mother to patch him up, unless you want to be answering questions at the hospital.”

“Melissa?” Stiles asked, his breath catching. “Does Ramona know of her, of Scott? And how do you?”

“She doesn’t know.” Hans didn’t wait around for Stiles to ask the million more questions that clamored for attention among the thousands he already had. Instead he stood up, gave Stiles one last strange piercing look and jogged back along the path, his movements smooth and efficient. Stiles bet he could run for miles with that kind of technique. He was down the dam steps and out of sight quicker than Stiles could bring himself to admit he’d fucked up big time. Derek was going to be so angry with him.

***

Melissa patched up Cue in her bathroom, giving the advised stitches and a tetanus shot, but only after despairing about the danger Stiles had put such a young person in. Stiles had shouldered her reprimand in silence, not feeling even an ounce of irritation towards her for it.

Derek had been so worried when he’d come bounding up the dam steps he’d been almost frantic, grabbing Stiles and patting him down looking for injury, demanding a recount of what had happened. He’d then turned to Cue who’d woken up and was bitching about being a lightweight when it came to his own blood. 

When it became apparent Stiles was okay and Cue didn’t have internal organ damage, Derek had become very quiet. He’d reverted to speaking in grunts and monosyllables during the drive to Scott’s and then he’d stopped even that, refusing to speak at all while they waited for Cue to be given the all-clear. His furious disappointment was clear from across the living room as he leant against the wall, arms folded and his face a thunderous mass of scowls.

Stiles was sitting with his feet on the sofa cushion, forehead resting on his knees because looking at Derek made him shrink inside. He kept replaying the last few hours over and over in his head, trying to work out how he could have done things better. 

If the Tree hadn’t bitch-slapped him, he wouldn’t have been so muddle-headed. If he’d been able to fight off the effects of the dam’s iron he’d have been able to use his magic. He would have been invisible and could have watched Ramona meet Cue without letting on he was there. Maybe if he hadn’t been so impatient, he’d have stayed with Derek and wouldn’t have waltzed right into something he hadn’t been able to handle.

If, if, if. 

All this recrimination was getting him nowhere. 

Stiles stood up and moved to the front door, only to be waylaid by Scott who was donning his jacket and getting ready to head back to the animal clinic. Derek had called him, against Stiles’ wishes, and he’d come home to make sure everything was okay.

“Where are you going?” Scott asked curiously, as if everything was fine between them.

Stiles sighed. “There’s something I need to check. I’ll be back.” He remembered kicking Scott out of his house and his gut twisted. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s always okay for you to be here,” Scott answered, looking perplexed. “I’ll wait for you, if you want?”

Feeling too despondent to over-think it, Stiles offered, “You can come with, if you’re not in a hurry to get back to the clinic.”

Scott’s face lit up with cautious hope. “Are you teleporting?”

Stiles hadn’t thought that part through, but he had no other way of getting home without taking Derek’s car. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” He turned from the front door and walked through the house to the backyard, Scott trailing like an overeager puppy. 

When they stood in the wan sunlight, Scott was smiling. “Thanks for this, Stiles.”

Stiles rubbed at his elbow, unable and unwilling to reciprocate such enthusiasm. “Sure thing. So, … do you want an explanation about it, or do you just want to go?”

Scott thought about it. “Do you want to tell me?”

Stiles didn’t know. Scott told secrets with an ease that was hurtful, and judging came to him just as easily. 

Reaching out, Scott touched Stiles lightly on the shoulder before dropping his hand. “No pressure, bro. Only if you feel okay with it.” 

Stiles shifted his feet. He’d removed his shoes in Derek’s car on the way back from the dam and his toes curled along the cold ground. “How about we just go?” 

Scott nodded, eyes shadowed with regret. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Just stand there.” Stiles put an uncomfortable hand on Scott’s arm and let the sunlight, weak though it was as it struggled through clouds, envelop him. His magic, though not his connection with the Tree, had woken up as soon as he’d left the dam and he hugged it closely now, supremely thankful for it. He edged it around Scott and thought about his own backyard. 

The ground changed under his feet and suddenly he was up to his shins in snow. He looked up into the bare branches of the sycamore tree, letting his hand slip from Scott’s arm.

“Wow.” Scott kicked his way out of the snow, looking around as if he’d never seen Stiles’ backyard before. “I can’t even …” He turned back. “That’s the most incredible thing.” He gazed at Stiles with wonder and something else, something he’d never directed at him before; something like awe.

“Come on,” Stiles mumbled, turning towards the house. 

He stopped at the backdoor, torn between distrust of Scott and a niggling desire for the past. Casting a surreptitious glance from under his lashes, he found Scott watching him with a soft crooked smile. The unmistakable warmth in his eyes had Stiles mentally backing up a step, his fingers turning white from clenching the door handle. Scott touched him on the arm and an overwhelming amount of brotherly love flowed from him, causing Stiles to rock back out of reach. 

Scott dropped his hand from where it was outstretched in the air. A twinge of sadness came from him before Stiles locked down his fox ability. “What did you want to check?”

“Uh, the papers Dad and Argent are working on.” Stiles opened the door and went inside, Scott coming quietly behind him.

The papers were sorted into piles on his dad’s desk in the study. Stiles picked up the pile that had all the known accomplices of Brine. He hadn’t looked through the papers since Argent had dropped them off, but his dad sure had. There were hand-written notes and sticky labels all over them. 

Stiles flipped through until he came to the page he wanted. He put it down on the table and Scott came up beside him, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hansel Kempler” he read aloud. “Who’s that?”

“An enigma.” Stiles tapped a finger on Hans’ photo. “I have to talk to Cue.”

Scott made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Can I read through these? I want to know who I need to look out for.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“No need to look so shocked.” Scott scooped up the pile. “I’m not letting anyone hurt you or your dad.”

***

Derek was in Scott’s backyard when they sunlight-leaped back. He stood a little distance away, his eyes shadowed under a heavy frown.

Looking between the two of them, Scott shouldered an old twine shopping bag which held the papers. “I’ll bring Cue out, Mom will be done with him by now.”

When Scott had gone, Stiles and Derek were left in an awkward silence. They edged nearer to each other but stopped before touching.

Stiles sighed, knuckling his eyes. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. What can I do to fix it?”

Derek’s frown was still in place. “Just stay near me for now. I need you close.”

Stiles dared to put an arm slowly around Derek’s waist. He wanted to say so much more, but Derek’s stiffness stopped him. 

They were still standing awkwardly together when Cue came out the back door with Scott. “If you’re going to start macking on each other, I can leave,” he said, stomping down the porch steps, hand on his injured side.

“Shut up, Cue,” Derek told him, as Stiles reluctantly dropped his arm.

“I’m just saying, a bit of warning before you start on any PDAs would be appreciated. So, what’s up? I mean, apart from my aunt trying to kill me?”

From his jacket pocket Stiles pulled out the paper about Hans and unfolded it. “She wasn’t trying to kill you, not if we believe this guy. And considering you’re here right now and not in hospital, I’d say he’s right.”

“It sure felt like it to me.” Cue looked the paper over after Stiles gave it to him. “Hansel. That’s his name? I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘The Rock’.”

Derek tried and failed to conceal a surprised snort.

Cue scowled at him. “What?”

Stiles shook his head, knowing exactly what Derek found amusing. “I called him the Hulk in my head.”

Cue considered it. “Yeah, except he isn’t green. I think ‘The Rock’ suits him better. He has that whole Dwayne Johnson thing going on, except shorter and way scarier.”

Stiles nodded. “I’ll give you that.”

During their debate, Scott and Derek had started giving each other sideways looks, Scott ducking his head to hide a smile into the collar of his jacket. Derek’s expression was entirely too bland but the amusement in his eyes gave him away. 

“Your friends are weird,” Cue commented, noting their reactions.

“They just don’t understand the beauty that is pop culture,” Stiles explained, ignoring Scott coughing into his hand. “They’re philistines, both of them.”

“I feel your pain, man,” Cue commiserated. “None of the boys at the house have any interest in World Wide Wrestling! What’s up with that, I ask you? How is it even possible?!”

“Pod people,” Stiles surmised.

Cue nodded. “I hear ya.”

Derek and Scott shared another glance that had Scott snorting loudly.

Stiles decided it was time to get down to business. He wasn’t going to mention the odd way Hans had spoken to him and the offer of water. He couldn’t explain it to anyone who hadn’t been there, knowing how stupid it was to have accepted the drink and how subjective someone’s actions could seem after the fact. “Hans checked out your wound and told me you’d be okay,” he said instead.

Cue frowned. “Does that sound like something a hunter would do? I don’t really know how they work.”

“They would,” Derek answered, “if they were trying to get you to believe they’re on your side.”

Stiles screwed up his face. “It wasn’t that. There’s something strange about him. He knows about you,” he told Scott. “And your mom.”

Scott immediately looked worried. “How?”

Stiles had no answer to that. “He also said Ramona doesn’t, but I’m not sure.”

Taking the page and looking it over, Scott frowned. “Do you notice it says nothing about previous employment?”

“Really?” Cue reached out and pulled the edge of the paper down in Scott’s hand, making a show of it. “You mean he didn’t have a paper route when he was ten? What’s the world coming to?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Scott huffed.

“There’s always something,” Stiles explained to Cue. “People’s lives leave a trail.”

“What’s it mean that there’s no trail, then?” Cue asked.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything,” Stiles replied. “I’m hedging my bets that it’s something, though.”

“Whatever it means and whoever he is, we obviously have to be really careful around him,” Derek pointed out. “But it’s this Ramona I’m worried about. Chris came up relatively short on information about her, too. What do you know about her background, Cue?”

“She’s a sub for various universities,” Cue told him. “Teaches history.”

“I guess she needed something that let her travel and wasn’t permanent,” Scott mused. “Why is it the bad guys are always teachers?”

“I’d say it reflects poorly on the student body, but it’s probably a deeper psychosis of the standard of schooling in general,” Stiles quipped dryly. 

“I’m so glad I’m not in school,” Cue exhaled, happily.

“Why aren’t you in school?” Scott was clearly thinking that’s where Cue should be right then.

Stiles shrugged and answered for him. “Dad got him time off due to ‘extenuating emotional trauma.’ But you’re going back sooner rather than later, Cue, I’d bet on it.”

“What?! No!”

Stiles grinned. “If you stay here, he’s going to make you do what he can’t make me do.”

“That fucking sucks.” Cue pouted, causing Stiles to lean over and ruffle his hair. Cue slapped at him. “Quit it, jerk.”

Watching their interaction, Scott got a peculiar look on his face. But he said nothing, only smiling banally when Stiles cocked his head in question.

Cue got a devious glint in his eye. “So, Stiles, Ramona said you’re a fairy.”

Scott laughed, shocked into it and not even trying to hide it this time.

“I am not!” Stiles defended hotly.

“She has it wrong?”

“I’m fae, not fairy.”

Cue squinted in confusion. “What’s the difference?”

“Do you see any wings? Am I two inches tall?”

Scott started choking.

Stiles pointed a finger at him. “Shut. Up. Scott.”

Scott held up his hands in defense, mouth pinched shut, but his eyes shined.

Leveling a death glare at him, Stiles warned, “Seriously, Scott, do not speak if you value your tongue.”

“We do have pixie dust, Stiles,” Derek added, conversationally.

Stiles switched his glare to him. “You too?”

Derek shrugged, unrepentant.

“You have pixie dust?” Cue asked, truly too excited by the prospect. “So you can fly?!”

Scott bent over, sucking in air.

“I hope you have an asthma attack,” Stiles told him. It was an impossibility with a werewolf’s stamina, but it was either hoping for that or pushing Scott over into the snow. 

Scott landed on his ass, toppling over easily as Stiles used a bit of fae strength to shove at his shoulder. It was Stiles’ turn to be amused, and he chuckled at Scott’s expression of astonishment as he wiped snow off his face.

“You haven’t answered me,” Cue whined. “Stiles, man, can you fly?”

Scott starting laughing again, having never really stopped. He sat in the snow and made no move to get up. 

Dipping his head to hide a grin at first, Derek looked up defiantly when Stiles turned on him. His teeth flashed in the sun as he laughed out loud. Stiles narrowed his eyes in irritation but took note of how beautiful Derek looked in that moment, even if the levity was at his expense and Derek was still angry at him.

Tugging on Stiles’ sleeve, Cue whined, “Answer me, damn it!”

As Scott and Derek laughed that little bit more, Scott picking himself up out of the snow, Stiles decided he was never going to explain to anyone how he could air-travel. Ever.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Stiles remembers random stuff, he quoted 'How do I love thee? (Sonnet 43)' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Maybe his mom taught it to him, maybe he read it during one of his Google-rabbit-hole escapades, who knows? But it's there in his brain and he used it. 
> 
> For anyone who's interested: the sonnet was published in 1850 as part of a sequence called 'Sonnets from the Portuguese'.


	8. The Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who are unwilling.

Stiles knew he’d had to face the music about his stuff-up at the dam sooner or later. He’d wanted it to be later, but Derek insisted they be there when Stiles’ dad got off his shift. 

When his dad saw Cue and Scott and noticed the tension between Derek and Stiles, he put two and two together and unfortunately came up with four. “What did you do?” he asked, not even having hung up his sheriff’s jacket on the front hall peg. He unclipped his gun holster and held up his free hand. “Stop, let me put this away before you tell me.” He walked down the hallway.

Stiles watched Derek and Scott listening to something and knew by the looks on their faces they were hearing his dad in the study putting the gun in the safe. Stiles could imagine the things he was probably muttering to himself.

Coming back into the living room, his dad stood, hands on hips. “What now?”

Stiles decided to rip the bandaid off. “I met Ramona. She hurt Cue and knows he’s with us.”

His dad turned to Cue. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just a few stitches, nothing big.” Cue smiled, all teeth and bravado.

Palming his face, Stiles sighed internally. He obviously needed to teach Cue what details to keep back in situations like these.

“Stitches?” his dad repeated, looking shocked.

Preempting a lecture, Stiles headed towards the kitchen.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his dad demanded.

“Thought I’d run away from home,” Stiles shot back, everyone but Cue stiffening at his words. “I’m hungry and the kitchen is this way. Thought I’d make some food. Problem with that?”

“No.” His dad’s shoulders dropped.

Stiles looked for a way to escape his sudden guilt and Cue happened to be standing right beside him. “You want food, right?” He grabbed Cue by the shoulder and steered him out of the living room. 

“Shouldn’t we be in there?” Cue asked.

“No, we should not. Trust me. I know exactly how it’s going to go.” 

Stiles grabbed bread and peanut butter, quickly making four sandwiches. He shoved them into Cue’s hands and motioned to the back hallway. 

When they were in his room, Stiles shut the door and leant his head against it. He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Sit wherever, bed, chair, floor. Your pick.”

Cue sat on the edge of the bed and started eating. “You don’t have anything.”

Stiles turned around. “Not hungry.” He moved to sit on the floor, his back up against the desk, knees bent.

“But you said —”

“I lied.”

“Because you’re fae?”

Stiles grunted. “Yeah, that.” When Cue gave him a skeptical look, he pulled a face. “Because I didn’t want to hear them tell me how I stuffed up yet again and how disappointed they all are, and how my attitude is not okay. I could go on but it would bore you as much as it does me.”

“You didn’t stuff up. You’re not the one who stabbed me.”

“But I am the one who let you get in the van, the one who left with you when I promised Derek I’d stay with him.”

“So, really it’s only Derek who has a reason to be pissed,” Cue reasoned. “I chose to get in the van. That’s not on you.”

“Did you get in because I asked you to? Because I was there? Because I said it would help me?”

Cue paused mid bite of his sandwich. “Maybe?”

“My fault, then.”

Cue scoffed. “You’re being an idiot but I get that you’re stressed, so I’ll let it slide.”

Stiles stared at him. “Pass me one of those,” he ordered, holding out his hand.

Leaning over, Cue gave him half a sandwich. “Thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I’m not.” Stiles bit into the bread. “Just another thing I’m not doing right.”

“What?”

“Eating.”

“You probably should, I wasn’t kidding when I told Ramona there was nothing to you. Is that a fae thing?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “Only ever met one other fae.”

Cue stopped eating, his hands coming to rest in his lap, holding the sandwiches loosely. “That’s got to be hard.” His face wore an expression of a deeper understanding than a child his age should have. “Do you get lonely?”

Stiles paused. He could lie. He was surrounded by people in his life so saying no would be easy, but being alone wasn’t the same as being lonely. “Yeah,” he admitted, picking at the bread in his hands. “But I can’t change it, so why does it matter?”

“Do they know that?” Cue indicated towards the door.

“Hell, no.” Stiles laughed, short and ugly.

“Why not?”

“Because telling them would mean Scott telling anyone who’d listen, Dad being disappointed in me yet again and Derek not wanting me to do anything by myself, which he does now anyway.”

“Sounds like they care.”

Taking another bite of his sandwich like all of his attention was on eating, Stiles frowned, chewing until there was nothing but goo before swallowing. 

“Why’d you tell me?” Cue finally asked.

“I don’t know. You’re different.”

“How?”

“Don’t know.”

Cue fell silent again. He seemed to be weighing something up as he finished eating, running his tongue over his teeth. “I’d like to have people who cared about me but I only have crazy supernatural hunters. And one of them stabbed me with a stick. How’s that for a dysfunctional family?”

There was a knock on the door and Scott opened it. “Can I come in?”

Stiles made a half-hearted ‘whatever’ gesture, though he hoped Scott would have the sense to go away.

Scott closed the door behind him and settled on the floor. “Derek’s still talking to your dad.”

“How angry is he?” Stiles wasn’t sure if he meant Derek or his dad. 

“He’s not, not in the way you’re thinking. Your dad’s just worried.”

Stiles didn’t believe it. There was no way his dad was fine about Cue getting stabbed. He could have been killed and it would have been Stiles’ fault.

Scott shifted uneasily.

“Just say it, Scott. Whatever it is.”

“I may have overheard you just now. I wasn’t trying to.” Scott scrunched his shoulders, obviously expecting Stiles to be furious. But Stiles just didn’t feel it.

Cue held up a hand. “Can someone explain how that’s possible? Because no one can hear what’s being said at the opposite side of the house through a closed door, unless you’re a snoop and had your ear up against it.”

Scott looked at Stiles, confusion evident. “You didn’t tell him?” 

“No,” Stiles replied.

“Not even after I told Chris about you?”

“Not my place to tell.”

Scott’s face crumpled, self-recrimination chasing itself across his features.

“Told me what?” Cue asked.

“You can tell him,” Scott allowed. “I owe you.”

Stiles shook his head. “You want him to know, you do it. Don’t think you can balance things out by cheating.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing!” 

“Wasn’t it?”

“Tell me what??” Cue asked again, stopping their staring match.

The door opened and Derek stuck his head in. “Scott and I are werewolves.”

Cue’s mouth dropped open. “Werewolves,” he repeated. He gave a considering look to the three of them. “Guess that explains the whole ‘pack’ thing I keep hearing about.” A smirk crept across his face. “Does this mean I’ve joined your secret gang?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. Just what they needed, another annoying child.

“No,” Scott said gently. “That’s not how it works.” He turned to Stiles. “That’s why I came in actually. I know why you act so differently with Cue.”

Stiles groaned silently and tipped his head back against the desk. “Stop analyzing me, I’m sick of it. Just leave it as everyone is pissed at me for being myself. It makes it a whole lot easier and means you can all shut up about it.”

Scott ignored him. “Cue’s not pack, so he’s not a threat.”

“Why would I see the pack as a threat?” Stiles said derisively. “That’s just stupid.”

“Maybe not,” Derek disagreed, leaning against the doorframe. “I see where you’re going with this, Scott.”

“I don’t.” Stiles was beginning to fume inside, the first real thing he’d felt for the past few hours apart from shame. 

Scott was watching him closely. “Just give me a second to explain. I stuffed up badly with you and you feel I can’t be trusted, right?”

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. “There’s no ‘feel’ about it. This is the reality we live in. You can’t be trusted. And I can’t say this is helping things.” He gestured to Derek and Scott, meaning their intrusion into his room to gang up on him yet again.

Derek shushed him. “We’re just talking.”

Stiles said nothing. He didn’t want to be angry at Derek, but if they kept going that’s what was going to happen.

“Deep down you don’t trust any of us,” Scott surmised. “I think your feelings for me have filtered down to everyone in the pack, Derek included. I’m sure it’s to do with you being fae, when you were human you forgave a lot easier.”

“What?” Stiles couldn’t believe it. “All this is my fault? Fuck you, Scott.”

“No! I’m admitting I screwed up with us. The thing with Chris was the tipping point but not the beginning. You told me yourself, so you can’t deny it.”

“And I have issues with everyone else because of you?? Think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Scotty.”

Scott looked at Derek for help. “I’m not explaining it right.”

Coming further into the room, Derek squatted down near Stiles. “Have you called Lydia or Malia recently?”

Stiles glared at him balefully. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you want to call them?”

Stiles didn’t answer. The thought of talking to them made him shudder. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

Derek nodded. “Scott’s right, Stiles. It’s no wonder you feel alone.”

“Scott’s talking bullshit, Derek. He’s just looking to blame the repercussions of his actions on my not being human anymore. And I’m the only fae here, so of course I’m going to feel isolated!”

Derek looked infinitely sad. “It’s not just because you’re the only fae. It’s also because you don’t see yourself as pack. Not anymore.”

“And that’s on both of us,” Scott added. “I broke your trust, you broke our bond.”

“That can’t … that’s not …” Stiles trailed off. There was a truth to what he was hearing. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to Lydia or Malia. “It’s not like they’ve broken down doors to get in touch with me,” he argued. 

“Have you even wondered why?” Scott asked.

Stiles hadn’t given either Malia or Lydia any thought. He knew it was painfully obvious, and he hated how he felt the need to defend his actions. He hugged his knees tighter to himself.

“I give Malia a weekly update on how things are going with us all, you included,” Derek told him, causing Stiles look at him in surprise. “She’s the one who suggested they give you the space you need. She convinced Lydia.”

That sounded a lot like Malia, actually. She understood Stiles in a way no one else did. 

Guilt started to squirm inside him. “So what if she did?”

Scott shook his head. “Lydia didn’t want to. She almost came home to make sure you’re okay. I’ve had no idea what to tell her lately when she’s phoned. She’s still thinking of deferring the rest of the year.”

Now Stiles’ guilt was a tangible thing. He didn’t want it, he had enough to last a lifetime. “So what?” he snarled. “Maybe this is your plan, Scott. Make me feel guilty, make me forgive you without you doing anything to deserve it, just so everyone else gets a fair go! The whole thing is ridiculous and I won’t fall for it!”

Scott gaped at him, looking so surprised Stiles had a moment of doubt. 

“Actually,” Scott finally said, “I was going to say I know words can’t fix things. I’m going to prove myself by standing by you.”

Stiles didn’t believe him for one second. “You’ve already said that. More than once. I’m still waiting.”

“I am doing it, even if you can see it,” Scott insisted. “I’ll keep doing it until something happens that makes it obvious to you. I don’t expect anything to get better until then. I’ve accepted that.”

Stiles wanted to rail a bit more but Scott seemed so sure it was doubtful Stiles would get a rise from him again. He eyed Derek instead. “You do realize that if you believe Scott, it means I don’t trust you. Are you okay with him saying that?”

Unfortunately, Derek didn’t want to play the game any more than Scott did, refusing to be baited. He gave Stiles a long look and asked, “Do you trust anyone who’s pack?”

“I trust you.”

Derek gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes, not always. You trust me when you see me as your claimed, your wolf. You don’t, when I’m seen as pack.”

“Fuck,” Stiles mumbled, dropping his head into his hand. He had to give Derek the benefit of the doubt, unlike Scott, even though they were saying the same thing.

Scott cleared his throat. “There’s more, Stiles. Your dad —”

Stiles shook his head from where it rested on his palm. “No, Scott, don’t you dare.”

“— I see him as pack-related.” 

Stiles glared up at Scott through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Scott continued. “It’s not the only reason for everything, but it is a reason. When he’s just your dad, you trust him with your life. But when we’re all together and we’re pack, you don’t.”

“Can you feel it?” Stiles asked Scott, curious but also numb to the answer as he dropped his hand down by his side. “That I’m not pack?” It should have hurt to say it but there was nothing, just a hollow acceptance. There wasn’t even relief at finally knowing why everyone rubbed him the wrong way.

Scott nodded. “Now I know what to look for. You were human before and those connections are vastly different to werewolf ones. I just assumed the changes I felt were because you were fae.”

Cue spoke up. “Why is it such a big deal if he’s pack or not? Does that mean you can’t be friends?”

“Stiles is my brother, no matter what,” Scott said, smiling wistfully.

Stiles held the bridge of his nose, not willing to return the sentiment, though he thought back to when he would have agreed wholeheartedly, to when they’d been Scott’n’Stiles, together against the world. 

“Hey, I’m not included in this pack-hating thing, right?” Cue asked. 

“No,” Stiles told him. “Believe it or not, you don’t make me want to punch you in the face like other people do.”

“Yeah, but I used to and only a few days ago,” Cue pointed out.

“Where are you going with this?” Stiles sighed.

“Well, we talked, I said sorry for the shit I’d done when I thought you were a face-eating monster, then you decided to give me a fair go.”

“And?”

Cue spread out his hands. “And I can’t believe I’m saying it because I think he’s a doofus, but why can’t you do that with Scott?”

“Hey!” Scott exclaimed. “Enough with the name calling!” 

“It’s not the same at all, Cue,” Stiles argued, rubbing at his eyes. “You’ve never … there’s history between Scott and I, all right? It’s easier to … with you it’s …”

“Easier to trust,” Derek finished the sentence.

“That’s what helped me to see it, Stiles,” Scott said. “Cue’s not pack, not my pack. But he is yours. You treat him like you used to treat Liam and Mason. Like a younger brother. Someone you trust.”

Stiles didn’t agree, but had no more energy to expend on anything. “I’m going to go.”

“Um, but you’re at home?” Cue pointed out, confused.

Derek surprised Stiles by pulling him to his feet. “We’re going to go,” he amended, leading Stiles out of his room and down the hallway, stopping only when his dad met them at the front door. 

“Heading off then?” The pinched skin between his dad’s eyes showed how much he wanted Stiles to do the opposite.

Stiles folded himself into his dad’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he apologized into his dad’s collar. He was sorry. For many things, not just the stuff up with Cue.

“Nothing to be done about it. Not this time,” his dad consoled. “Tomorrow I’ll un-officially warn Ramona about her actions and what will happen if she engages in any further assaults.”

Stiles shook his head as he pulled back out of the hug. “What? No —”

“No what, Stiles?” His dad raised an eyebrow. “No to doing my job? I may have to remind myself not to arrest her but I will do everything I can as Sheriff of this town, and as your father, to keep you and Cue safe. I’m being very lenient here.”

“Dad, if you do this it could pull her attention onto you —”

“Stop it, Stiles,” his dad rebuked. “You act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Have a bit of faith in your old man, alright?”

“I do have faith in you,” Stiles said quietly, hanging his head.

His dad put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed. “Good. So believe me when I say Ramona needs to be spoken to. She hurt a child and not just any child, she hurt Cue. I could put her in jail right now for at least twenty four hours and trust me, I want to. If it wasn’t in your best interest to keep this relatively quiet, I would have done just that.” 

Stiles looked down at his feet, upset he couldn’t push for his dad to step away completely. “I know I should have done things differently,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to put you in a tight spot. Again.

“Hey, none of that, you hear me?” His dad got Stiles to look back up at him. “Plans go awry, you know this. What happened to Cue wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles blinked, his eyes feeling damp. Rubbing a hand across them quickly, he turned to Derek. “Does Dad know about the pack stuff?”

Scott chose that moment to come out of Stiles’ bedroom. “I’ll explain it,” he offered, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t heard everything.

“There’s something more?” Stiles’ dad sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “Right, it never ends. Well, come on, Scott, tell me what’s going on now.” He shooed Scott past them into the living room, then gave Stiles another hug. “We’ll be okay, kiddo. Everything will work out.”

Giving his dad what he hoped was a believable smile, Stiles followed Derek outside into the evening chill. They got halfway down the path when the front door opened.

“Stiles, wait.” Cue ran after them. “I just wanted to say thanks, if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?”

“What Scott said. That I’m part of your pack?” Cue shrugged, suddenly all casual-like. “It doesn’t matter if it’s not.”

Stiles was dumbfounded by the hope that wafted towards him. “I don’t know.” He didn’t think it was true but saying so would cause disappointment, and for an unknown reason he didn’t want Cue to feel that way.

“Is that a maybe?” Cue’s mouth curled up into a grin.

Stiles shrugged, kind of wishing he felt he could say no. The kid’s hopes shouldn’t rest on him, that would be bad. Suddenly, he was subjected to a tight hug, Cue’s head coming to just under his shoulder, the kid being smaller than Liam. Silently asking for assistance, Stiles looked over at Derek. It must have been obvious how uncomfortable he was, standing with his arms out to the sides, while Cue hung on like a barnacle round his middle.

Leaning up against his car, the biggest of smug grins on his face, Derek just raised one eyebrow in return. Some help.

Cue let go before Stiles could even come close to thinking about hugging him back. He was blushing, looking anywhere but at Stiles. “So, yeah, see you later,” he mumbled and ran back into the house.

Stiles turned to Derek. “What was that? Why didn’t you do something? Now he thinks …” Stiles screwed his face up, thinking about what Cue probably thought. “Urghh!” He didn’t want nor need any added complications to his life. 

“I thought you had it all under control,” Derek commented.

“Ah! Shh, no, stop,” Stiles interrupted, holding up a finger. “You do not get to speak unless it’s to apologize. You failed in your duties at stopping wannabe-wolf boy from accosting me.”

Derek snorted. “For someone so smart, you’ve read the situation all wrong. It’s not a werewolf he idolizes, Stiles. That’s all you.”

“What?” Stiles shook his head, eyes darting back to the closed front door. “He asked about being in your wolf club, so you know what? No. I don’t agree with your half-baked theory.”

Derek went to say something more, the amused glint in his eye letting Stiles know he would be better off not hearing whatever it was.

“No,” Stiles got in first. “Not one word, fail-wolf. Not one.”

***

Derek was taking a back road Stiles wasn’t very familiar with. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Derek answered, like it should have been obvious.

“Why this way?”

Derek shot him a questioning glance. “If you want to go somewhere else I’ll take you, I just thought maybe you’d like a bit of a scenic drive first to clear your head.”

“Oh.”

A scenic drive at night. It could happen. 

Stiles wound down his window, not minding the blast of freezing air that rushed into the cabin of the car. If Derek complained, it was lost to the roar of the wind as Stiles stuck his head out of the window and looked up at the sky. 

The stars were out in brilliant force. Even without his fae sight, Stiles could count numerous bright spots in the sky. It was a beautiful pin-pricked blanket of darkness, folded down over the world, making everything seem so much more possible than it did during the day. The moon was a tiny sliver of light, barely seen, reminding Stiles of the fae’s ominous hints about about the full moon. 

Sticking his head back in the car, he wound up the window only to find Derek had an amused smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Your hair.” Derek made a wind-swept motion over his own head before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. “It’s all mussed up. Cute.”

Stiles screwed up his nose. “Derek Hale calling me cute. Huh.” He left his hair alone.

“I said your hair, not you,” Derek shot back, still smiling.

“You didn’t actually,” Stiles pointed out. “Your wording could be taken either way, so I’m saying the implication was directed at me specifically.”

Derek snorted but didn’t refute it, seeming content to just drive and swap banter like the day hadn’t happened and he hadn’t been furious at Stiles not an hour before.

Stiles was curious and cautious. The back-and-forth was easy, especially as he excelled in pointless conversation, but had Derek forgiven him for jumping in the van with Cue or was this a way to get him to drop his defenses before letting him have it? Not knowing made Stiles twitchy, and he tried to shift so he was more comfortable. Turning his body inwards allowed him to position his legs so they weren’t so cramped, but then he had a knee squashed up against the gear box. 

“I hate this car,” he complained. 

Derek rolled his eyes, but kept silent.

“Scenic route at night,” Stiles kept going. “I would say you’re joking, but the stars are awesome so you chose well.”

“I’m so pleased it meets with your approval,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles’ mouth twitched. He waited for a few minutes, the night enveloping them in a comfortable cocoon of black as they sped along. “Thank you,” he finally said.

Derek glanced at him. His smile was soft and lovely and reminded Stiles of snuggling and warm kisses. 

They turned off a couple of roads and when Stiles looked outside he caught sight of a familiar road sign stating the preserve was close by. “You do know where we are, right?” At Derek’s incredulous look, he backtracked. “What I meant was, why? Given what happened last time, it would make sense if you didn’t want to go back.”

“The preserve is bigger than just the grove and the Nemeton,” Derek said rationally. “I thought we might run together for a bit.”

It had been a while since they’d done that and the idea was tempting enough that Stiles wanted to agree right off, but he was worried. The barrier that had come up between the Nemeton and himself hadn’t changed with him leaving the dam. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe the Tree was sulking and keeping itself from him, which was ridiculous, but it did make him pause and mentally tally how far away they were from it.

“Yeah, let’s go running,” he finally replied.

Derek eased off the gas and the car slowed down. “What was that?”

“What?”

“You said it like you wanted to but that wasn’t all it was. I can smell you’re conflicted.”

“Isn’t that my natural scent by now?” Stiles joked, trying to project honesty through his very pores. “The fae may be at the grove, I just wanted to give you the option of not having that confrontation.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Derek, I know how you feel in regards to the fae. I know how everyone feels.”

“Maybe so,” Derek conceded. “But I’m also not stupid. I know you’re deflecting. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said on reflex. Before Derek could complain, he amended, “Something. Nothing big.” At Derek’s persistent look, Stiles groaned and slumped down, hitting his knees against the glovebox. He cursed the car under his breath. “It’s just confusing,” he admitted. “There was this thing that happened at the dam. You know, the place where I majorly fucked up today.”

“Stiles. Just tell me already.”

“Don’t rush me, Derek, I’m just a bit wary okay? You can’t say you weren’t angry about the whole thing.”

Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face as he sped the car back up. “I didn’t realize why you’d taken off after Cue. I thought it was just you being your usual head-strong stubborn self, needing to do everything alone. I thought you’d planned it.”

“I planned for Hans to turn up?” Stiles was confused.

“No. I thought you’d planned to dump our sticking together and had only agreed to humor me.”

Stiles couldn’t hide the hurt he felt. He was trying to be the best he could be for Derek. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know. This time it was me being insecure,” Derek admitted slowly.

“What have you got to be insecure about?”

Derek side-eyed Stiles. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Making me out to be this perfect person. I’m nowhere near it.”

“I know you’re not perfect,” Stiles hedged. 

“You’re lying, or at least not agreeing completely.” Derek sighed. “I stuffed up today, not just you. I should have done something more to back you up.”

“Like what? Tackle Hans with the CCTV cameras filming it all? Dad would have loved having to deal with that headache if someone reported it. Besides, it’s not like Scott thinks, I don’t see Cue as pack.”

“You act like he is,” Derek persisted. “Okay, you’re not a werewolf, no one’s saying you are. And yes, Scott tends to compare his own experiences to others a bit too much, but there’s something between you and Cue and you can’t deny it.”

Stiles could and would. “Perhaps it’s all a big ruse, a game I’m playing.” 

Derek scoffed. “Sure, and you’d do that why?”

“Because as everyone likes to point out, Der, I’m not a very nice person.” 

They traded hard looks until Derek had to look away to drive. “That’s such bullshit, Stiles, and I’m calling you on it.”

“Fine. Would it make a difference to know it wasn’t about helping Cue? Ultimately, it was about getting to Ramona any way I could. Hans was just the excuse.” Stiles drank in the burst of anger that flooded the tiny car as Derek’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “See? Makes a difference.” 

Derek had trouble reining in his emotions enough that Stiles couldn’t reach anything but a cold hard determination, but he did it, and for the next few minutes they were both silent.

“Why are you trying to push me away?” Derek finally asked, the muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Because I can,” Stiles replied, eyes hard and tone unyielding even though he had no idea what he was doing. He needed to slide into Derek’s personal space and hold on tight. He wanted to give and receive comfort, to have this awful day put behind them and forgiven. The urge to be contrary had come out of nowhere. 

They were still a fair distance away from the preserve entry as Derek slowed the car once more, this time stopping by the side of the road and turning the engine off. They sat watching the specks that floated in the night air through the beams of the car’s headlights.

“If you want to be alone, I won’t follow,” Derek said, breaking the silence. “But if you want me with you, you have to let me know because I’m done second-guessing what you need.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. What he needed.

“I’m serious, Stiles.” Derek turned to face him. “I’m tired of our miscommunication leading you to be angry at me.”

“Is that what you think the problem is?”

“It’s one of them. So just tell me what you need.”

Stiles had so many things he needed. “I don’t know what I need.” 

Derek didn’t say anything, just watched Stiles try to come up with the words that were required to explain what was going on. As he didn’t even know himself, it was a big ask.

Stomach swooping, Stiles swallowed against a dry mouth and confessed quietly, “I’m confused.” 

“It’s okay to be,” Derek allowed. 

Stiles let out another half-laugh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better handle on my fucked-up mess of a mind. I promised myself I’d do better by you and here I am doing it again, treating you like shit. I’m sorry, Der.”

Derek was quiet for a long time, long enough that Stiles wished he hadn’t spoken. He got ready to leave the car on his own. Derek reached for him just as Stiles placed his hand on the door handle; strong capable fingers holding his left wrist with utmost care. With Stiles’ body leaning on it, the car door popped open. The interior light switched on, causing him to blink and freeze, the sudden brightness illuminating more than he was comfortable with. He let out a choked sob, sagging back in his seat and closing the door to get the light to click off. 

Derek kept hold of his wrist. 

Tears threatened to fall as Stiles whispered, “I’m like a damn yo-yo. How can you stand this? I can’t stand this.” 

“Because I love you,” Derek replied.

“So when I’m an asshole, you what, just assume I don’t mean it?”

“You do mean it,” Derek told him, matter-of-factly. “And it’s not easy. It hurts. But you’re also not well.”

Stiles groaned and tried to break free from Derek’s grasp, as Derek flicked the interior light on manually, making Stiles flinch. 

“I remind myself that you need my love and support, not me turning my back on you. Just like now, when you’re trying to get away but I can tell how much you need me with you. Maybe I shouldn’t expect you to be able to admit it, so please, please, Stiles … just stop fighting me and let me help you.”

Stiles turned away from the exasperated plea. He’d closed off his fox ability earlier, not wanting to know what everyone was feeling because it was just too much when he was feeling like crap himself, but he was still getting the force of Derek’s love coming through their claim. It pulled him in and wrapped him up tight, stopping his squirming.

Derek breathed out his relief when Stiles stopped trying to get away. “I’m not making excuses, or trying not to, but you can be such a shit, and you don’t listen when we tell you you’re sick.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Exactly like that,” Derek grumbled. “You’ve got PTSD, but you ignore the signs; you’re not eating or sleeping properly, and it’s starting to effect you; the Nemeton is doing something to you, but you won’t believe it; and you just keep going on as if everything is fine!”

Derek was so frustrated it burned through Stiles’ defenses, leaking into him like magma. He stared at his wolf, unable to look away.

“What did you think was going to happen when you’re under so much stress and denial?” Derek fumed. “It’s like you’re doing your best to see how much weight you can bear before you shatter under it!”

Stiles wanted to dispute such a ludicrous statement but the exasperation Derek had been projecting ebbed and flowed away as if Derek had run out of steam, leaving only sadness behind.

Pulling Stiles’ hand up to his lips, Derek kissed the knuckles. “If we weren’t bonded and claimed, I think you’d be somewhere very dark and alone, and I wouldn’t be able to reach you to pull you back.”

Hearing that made Stiles loose the will to keep arguing. He’d had the very same thought, more than once, and it terrified him.

Derek loosened his hold of Stiles’ wrist, threading their fingers together. “I don’t know if it’s the Nemeton’s influence, your mental issues or your magic like Deaton suggested, but whatever is making you act like this is scaring people. And before you try to deny it, I know that doesn’t bother you like it would have only half a year ago.”

“Half a year ago, I would have asked why you’d choose to stay with me,” Stiles remarked.

“But not now?” Derek asked, placing his kiss this time over the tiny silver scar on Stiles’ wrist. He held Stiles’ eyes, his lips sliding along skin. 

Stiles’ breath stuttered in his chest. “No, not now. Even when I’m not right in the head, I know what I am to you.”

“And what’s that, Stiles-love?” Derek’s mouth made Stiles’ skin tingle.

“I’m yours,” Stiles said simply, his eyes riveted to the shine Derek was leaving on his wrist.

“You are,” Derek agreed. “You’re mine, I love you, I need you, you’re everything to me. And I know even when you get so angry you’re not thinking straight, you feel the same way about me and you always will.”

“I do,” Stiles whispered, edging towards Derek across the seats. “I will, always.”

Derek’s mouth on his was a lifeline. Stiles closed his eyes and forgot about the discomfort of having his left shoulder crushed into Derek’s seat while his groin was almost defeated by the gear box. There was only Derek’s lips and his tongue. 

This was what Stiles had wanted since Ramona had been victorious in their first meeting. Since he’d been left feeling so empty and hopeless. He’d wanted Derek. Derek to shore him up, to hold him together, to kiss him with such passion that everything else was just background noise to their being together. It was Derek. Always, always Derek.

Stiles was brought out of the heat winding through them both, through their claim, as the Nemeton came thundering back, the barrier dissolving, the force of it almost flinging him out of his body and into the astral plane. He gasped and jolted, Derek stopping him from flailing and causing himself injury in the confined space of the car.

“Stiles?!”

“Holy … God,” Stiles moaned, his head pounding.

“What was that?” Derek panted, eyes wild.

Stiles gently settled himself back into his seat, holding his head in his hands. Red and black spots danced across his vision. Derek switched off the car’s interior light, the darkness immediately soothing and welcome.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered.

“Was that the Nemeton?” Derek asked again. “Why was it so … I don’t even know how to explain it.”

The truth, for once, felt easier to speak than a lie Stiles couldn’t think of. “When I went to the dam I was too far away from the Tree. It caused a disconnection between us. That was it coming back.”

“The Nemeton hurt you because you left it?”

“No,” Stiles disagreed. “The distance caused the problem, part of why I stuffed up so badly. I couldn’t think straight, it was like not having enough air to breathe. Now I’m closer, our connection is strengthening again.”

“And it does it like that? God, Stiles.”

“Don’t think of it as having a choice in what it does, Der. The Tree doesn’t think like you or I. I tried to explain this before to Deaton. The Tree just is. The reconnecting hurts because it hurts, that’s all.”

“You sound like a person justifying battery.”

Stiles gave Derek a dark look. “I do not.”

“There’s a reason everyone dislikes the Nemeton, Stiles. Every time you explain something about it, you end up defending its hurting and abusing you.”

“It doesn’t abuse me!”

Derek hummed, his mouth thin and unimpressed. He reached through the darkness and brushed his hand across Stiles’ forehead, pushing back his hair. “You need to sleep, you’re still exhausted and today didn’t help.”

“You’re not doing all that well, either,” Stiles replied, grateful for the change in subject. Without fae sight he couldn’t see in the dark, but he could feel the weariness coming off Derek. It was also in his movements as he dropped his hand away from Stiles’ face.

There was a sudden light outside, just over Derek’s shoulder. Stiles’ eyebrows rose when he registered what he was seeing, making Derek whip around and curse. The fae stood on the side of the road, shimmering in the moonlight like an illuminated ghost.

“Not now,” Derek muttered. “It’s too much to ask for you to stay in the car, isn’t it?”

Stiles didn’t bother answering. Keeping his eyes on the fae as long as he could, he fumbled with the door handle and slipped backwards out of the car.

Derek got out as well, closer to the fae than Stiles was, and stared it down. “How about you give him a break?” he demanded of it. “Leave him alone! Can’t you see you being here makes everything a hundred times worse?!”

Stiles moved quickly around the car, hands out as he got in between them, standing in the middle of the road. “Woah, Derek! Stop, please.” He didn’t want to find out what the fae would do if it got pissed off enough. This was a being who controlled storms and could ride telluric currents without danger to itself. It was nature at its most raw, contained within flesh. 

Derek growled, flashing blue eyes at the fae. “Tell it to back off, Stiles.” His fangs glinted in the sliver of moonlight.

“Derek, stop.” The fae was waiting for him, Stiles could tell, its slanted eyes boring into him. There was no choice here. “I have to go, Der.”

Derek growled once more. “No, you don’t.”

But Stiles did. “I’m coming, just give me a second,” he told the fae.

The fae nodded and disappeared. The area it vacated glowed with an after-image that was there and then just as suddenly gone, a bright flash of what had been.

“Stiles, you’re not going,” Derek fumed through his fangs, stalking over to him.

“Yeah, I am, and I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to trust me on this. I know it sucks, I know it’s me leaving again to go do something without you. I don’t want to. I need to.”

“Why do you let it have such control over you?” Derek cupped Stiles’ face between his hands, his claws resting gently on cheekbones. “Why can’t you see it?”

“It doesn’t control me. There’s something wrong. It’s unhappy.” Stiles could still feel it, a discordant thrum through his bones.

“And you have to run after it and fix its problems?” Derek snarled.

“We’re the same, Derek. It’s like me. It created me. I can’t not help.”

There was a flash of sadness in Derek’s eyes before it was hidden away under a defeated sigh. “I don’t know what to wish for, maybe having more fae in town would give you some perspective, but one seems to be more than enough to cause trouble.”

“You don’t have to wish for anything, things just are the way they are,” Stiles told him. “And it’s not so bad, it being just myself and one other fae who visits at odd intervals. It really isn’t. But can you see why, because of that, I can’t not go when I’m asked?”

If anything, Derek looked more despondent. “I don’t want it hurting you anymore.” His fingers rubbed under Stiles’ eyes gently.

“It never has,” Stiles insisted.

“You’ve been in pain ever since it chose you,” Derek sighed. “You’re just too close to see it.” He dropped his hands from Stiles’ face.

Stiles pressed forward, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist. “It may be the only fae I know, Der, but you’re a hundred-thousand times more important to me. Scott may say I’m his family, but you’re mine.” 

***

Balancing on the edge of the Nemeton stump, Stiles walked around it, checking the growth he could feel brushing up against his senses. The fae hadn’t been there when he’d run into the grove and he wasn’t all that impressed.

“Well met, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

The sudden arrival of the fae next to him gave Stiles a shock and he slipped on the stump, grabbing the fae’s arm to arrest his tumble. He glared at it while righting himself. “Nice of you to drop in. Next time, a little noise beforehand, please!”

The fae chuckled without humor, wrapping its arm around Stiles’ shoulders, long fingers pulling him close until his forehead rested against its own. “Our own young fae, you have displeased us,” it whispered, eyes the deepest dark of night skies.

“What? How?” Stiles tried to extricate himself from the fae’s hold but remained immobile, the fae’s body solid rock against him.

“You tried to leave us, leave the Tree,” the fae accused.

“No.” Stiles breathed out in relief. “I just went close to the county border that’s all. I was helping a friend.”

“Friends are not your priority, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. The Tree is. You will not leave. We've made it difficult for you to do so, just in case.”

“What do you mean?”

The fae’s smile touched Stiles’ cheek, brushed along his jaw. “You didn’t feel it?”

Stiles turned his head away to get some personal space. “That was you? I thought it was the Tree.”

“Yes. No. Not only,” the fae agreed, as it ran one of its hands down Stiles’ back. An electric charge followed its touch, making Stiles twitch. “You are upset,” it guessed, oddly sounding surprised.

“Yes. No.” Stiles sighed.

“We have something for you,” the fae breathed out against his ear. 

It let him go and moved to the edge of the stump, jumping and alighting on the ground with a gentle surreal quality that defied gravity. Its entire being was a mass of shadows and light, its edges the only thing that stood out clearly to human sight. 

Stiles dropped his glamor, everything becoming sharper and more defined with fae sight. The intricate patterns on the fae’s skin came into focus, hues reflecting the earth at night; the sky lit with stars, the moon’s reflective shine. Stiles reached towards the fae, wanting to learn the secrets within its skin, and saw his own shine; the clouds moving slowly across his hands and arms, shades muted in the nightlight. 

The fae had a hungry tilt to its mouth as it stared at Stiles, its fingers closing absently around a beam of moonlight. “Ask your questions before you receive our gift,” it breathed out.

Stiles could ask so many. “What’s this mean?” He turned his hand around.

“Young fae grow, they learn, adapt, acquire new skills.” The fae’s hold on the moonlight changed into a caress of palm which travelled up and down, stroking.

“My skin looks like a satellite image because I’m learning how to bend light? Yeah, sure, why not? That makes sense,” Stiles replied dryly.

The fae laughed, its teeth flashing. “To simplify your journey thus is to loose the nuance, wherein confusion reigns.”

“I wouldn’t be so confused if you stopped your riddles and word-screwing,” Stiles shot back. 

The fae merely cocked its head, waiting.

Stiles rubbed at his face. “Basically you’re saying it’s normal; all fae go through it, so don’t freak out.”

The fae hummed an affirmative.

Glad it wasn’t something to worry about, Stiles breathed out in relief. “I’ve lost the connection to the trees and the earth. Is it part of this fae-puberty thing?” Crossing his fingers, he hoped the answer was yes. 

Centuries of knowledge resided in the fae’s eyes when it answered, “Everything must be in balance. In order for balance to be achieved, chaos must rule for a time. Equilibrium will return once you have settled within yourself. You forge a harder path than most, but that is the way of things.”

Stiles gave the fae his most unimpressed look. “Well, that’s just awesome. No advice on how to make things easier?”

“As we have told you before, stop fighting yourself. Accept. Move forward.”

“Thank you,” Stiles huffed. “Thank you for that. That’s so very helpful.”

The fae quirked its mouth. “You are welcome.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Stiles asked. “Or just reticent? It’s hard to tell.”

The fae’s smirk widened and it raised a sharp eyebrow, laughing silently. Then without any warning, it was back in Stiles’ personal space, leaning towards him. The look it leveled at him was dark and hard, hungry and pointed. The moment stretched, became something more as the promise in the look pulled at Stiles, demanding he give. He blinked and glanced away. 

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, our own heart, you are the one who will bring back balance. You will correct the mistakes of the past. You asked for our help, now receive our gifting.”

The fae kissed Stiles hard on the cheek then bounded away, using the same fluid floating motion it had before, as if gravity were pushing it up and along, not weighing it down. Coming to a stop, it called out to the forest, a strange bleating bark that echoed through the night. Stiles had heard the sound many times and knew it as the call of a deer. 

Sure enough, within a short time, a doe and young buck came stepping out of separate parts of the preserve into the grove’s clearing. Stiles was entranced to see them meet each other with quick muzzle sniffs before running fleet footed over the snow to the fae, who stood with hands outstretched to greet them.

Since he’d been changed, Stiles had followed the herds populating the forests and preserve, always feeling a simple joy in witnessing their lives. This time was no different. The doe and buck were sweet and calm and he wanted to be next to them, to have again that feeling of perfect wildness, of being one with nature which he experienced when he went among them and they were unafraid.

“Come.” The fae beckoned, its fingers running over the doe’s head and scratching at the buck’s small antlers. “Greet your gift.”

Confused but intrigued, Stiles slipped down off the Nemeton stump and stepped quietly through the snow, coming to stand beside the fae. 

The doe edged forward and nuzzled Stiles’ hand, pushing up underneath until his palm was lying on her head. She bleated, lips pulling back over her teeth and closed her eyes before settling against Stiles’ side, her warm flank heaving with her breaths, and the cold winter air steaming as it passed her nostrils. 

The young buck was still enjoying the scratchings of the fae along the velvet where its antlers grew out of its head, but its wide eyes were watching Stiles. When he lifted his free hand, the buck shifted until Stiles could press against its shoulder and run his hand up its neck, feeling the strength corded in muscle and sinew. He laughed softly; the warmth from both deer seeping into him along with a measure of gentle peace. How could such wild beautiful life be a gift?

“When your abuser was sacrificed to the Tree,” the fae began, speaking softly, its voice hardly carrying on the frosty night air, “he was perfect. Giving of himself willingly because of your trickery. Such a delight to witness, and your first. We were very pleased. Next, your own sacrifice, and then even more energy created and given by the joining of your wolf-bonded and you. Again, perfect and welcome. Now is the time to learn how to balance the freely given with that of the taken.”

The fae brushed its hand through the air over the heads of the deer and they stilled their restless shifting. Their breaths steamed, their sides worked in and out and their eyes watched calmly, as the fae stepped around the buck’s rear. The snow was silent under its feet, no footprints marking its passage as its fingers trailed over the buck’s flank, making muscles twitch.

Frozen in a different way, the fae’s words dropped stones in Stiles’ stomach, weighing him down. Willing the deer to step out of the trance placed on them, to bound away into the preserve and survive through the dawn and into tomorrow, Stiles hoped he’d misunderstood what the fae wanted from him.

The fae continued its circuit, stepping behind the doe. “We lied,” it said obliquely, fingers tracing the doe’s spine from tail to neck.

“What?” Stiles tore his eyes from the fae’s hand, the tightness in his gut easing.

The fae smirked as if it read his mind. “When you were first ours, you spoke to us of the fox. We lied when we said we didn’t know of it.”

Stiles thought back, pulling up the memory of how scared he’d been at not knowing what it meant to have the fox inside him. “Why lie to me, was it just because you could? What difference would it have made, other than me possibly feeling less confused if you’d shared what you knew?” Derek’s warnings were flashing in Stiles’ mind and he found it very hard to brush them away. It mattered that the fae had lied, it meant something powerful. Something that might cause him to rethink many things. 

The fae’s eyes glittered like stars as its smirk tightened, sharp teeth hidden behind its lips. “Our young fae, we know you so well. We do not push when time will work to bring us what we wish.” Its chuckle was soft and air-light. “We lie because we enjoy it, as do you. This time, it was for your benefit as much as ours.” The fae rubbed a hand over the doe’s ear then tapped its fingers along Stiles’ wrist and up his arm, its hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck in a strong grip. 

Heart tripping, Stiles was stuck between the deer’s fate and the fae’s manipulations, his anxiety skyrocketing.

“We have such a lot of time,” the fae explained, its tone one of reminiscence. “Time to see many things. Time to understand how people change if given time enough of their own. Our lie gave you time; time to settle, time to grow, time to understand who you are. With time given, you are here with us now, and with more time you will be ours even more than you are already.”

Stiles bit his top lip, his mind awash with possible meanings and warnings and deeper still, the desire of repressed instincts.

The fae lifted both of Stiles’ hands and placed them on the buck’s shoulder. The buck came up to his chest in height, head dipped at such an angle it needed to roll its eyes to look up at him. The trust reflected in the liquid pupil of the eye closest to him caused a sick feeling to grow in Stiles’ gut. Standing there trembling, he was unable to remove his hands, unable to make the fae stop.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, our young changeling, our own. Take the deer’s life. Give it to the Tree.”

“Why??” Stiles exclaimed, breath whooshing out of him.

“It is balance,” the fae stated, unconcerned. “Sacrifice is required. Given and taken. Willing and unwilling. Do what is required.”

“How …” Stiles choked, clearing his throat. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

“That is not necessary for this sacrifice,” the fae agreed. “Like the emotions you taste so prettily, feel its life, feel the energy it takes from the world in order to live, then take it into yourself.” 

The fae placed its hand over Stiles’ eyes, closing them, the pressure a strange balm to his jangled nerves. Its sharp nose pressed up against his cheek.

“You are fae,” it stated, and Stiles felt a surety settle within him.

“You are nature’s balance.”

The feeling grew, and Stiles stopped shaking.

“You are the protector of the Tree.”

Stiles was. He was the one who would heal the Tree. That was his job.

The fae dropped its hand. “Take the sacrifice. Do it now.”

Breathing in through his mouth, Stiles tasted the buck’s musk on his tongue as his fox ability reached out, unwinding like a spool. The buck’s feelings turned negative as he reached farther than he ever had before, deep enough to touch the life energy circulating within the deer. It was blindingly beautiful and tempting, rich and strong. An energy pack, waiting to be sipped, to be sucked right out of its fleshy shell. 

Stiles caught hold and pulled.

The buck respond by trying to jerk away, but the fae’s restraining magic was too strong. Ears flattened to skull and eyes rolled, muscles quivering under Stiles’ touch. Reeling in the deer’s fear, he gulped it down like the sweetest nectar as his veins started creeping with black, the deer’s life bubbling up his hands into his arms.

“Keep going, don’t stop.” 

The fae’s instruction was faint and far away, coming through a haze of wanting Stiles had never experienced. A chasm, a void, opened inside of him, yawning wide and deep. Hunger lived there, set with many teeth wanting to rasp and scrape at the world. He wanted it all, every little part of the deer that made it what it was, its life, its last breath. He wanted its heart to stop beating in the palm of his hand.

The buck couldn’t continue to stand, even under the fae’s thrall. It folded onto the ground while still trying to get away, head held up in defiance. Stiles followed it down, kneeling by its shoulder and pressing his hands harder into the fur, clutching at the life pumping under them. He pulled and pulled, feeling himself bloat, his magic straining, excited at what was to come.

Unable to withstand the onslaught, the deer lay its head down in the snow, lungs heaving in and out one last time before they rattled into silence. Amazingly, its heart was still thumping. The beat was in Stiles’ head and under his palm as he traced down the buck’s chest with one hand. 

The heart beat slower, slower. Slower. Stopped.

Grabbed by the fae, Stiles was guided, stumbling drunk, over to the Nemeton. Flattening his unresisting hands onto the wood, it purred into his ear, “Now, release it to where it needs to be.”

Stiles wanted to snarl at the fae. The deer was his. His life. His taken sacrifice. But the Tree was also his to help and they were one, connected and forever together. So he wrangled the mass of deer energy and directed it away from himself. Once it started, it flowed like honey out of him; visible sparking light puddling thickly out from under his palms to sink into the rings of the Tree, the wood under his skin heating up and glowing in the night, brighter and brighter until Stiles had to shut his eyes. 

As the deer left him, his own soul began to feel lighter, his body more his own. To hold another life within him was to endure an incredible weight, for all that he’d held it for such a short time and had wanted it so fiercely. 

The fae put a finger under Stiles’ chin and tipped his head back making him look up at it as he reeled with afterglow. “The other one is for you,” it stated. 

Supporting him when his own legs wouldn’t, the fae helped Stiles back over to the doe, who was terrified at having witnessed the death of the buck and knew with a prey’s instinct, hers was next. The doe screeched, throat working like a mad thing as she tried to use the only weapon left to her, her voice, to warn him back.

Hunger made Stiles’ mouth water. Having done it once, the anticipation of death was greater, knowledge making him greedy.

The fae lowered Stiles to the ground and he wrapped his arms reverently around the doe’s neck, pulling himself up to kneel before her. The doe’s muscles jumped and twitched, her body desperately trying to break away. Resting his face against her neck, fur sticking into his cheek, Stiles stroked her ear and whispered, “Thank you.”

Then he grabbed the doe’s life and pulled with all his might, his eyes rolling in his head as he groaned with the feeling of it; black lines rushing under his skin as he drank the doe down. It was a firestorm inside him, the doe fighting all the way, her life-force lashing out at Stiles. Laughing madly, he held on, enjoying the doe’s strength and growing desperation as she slowly but surely conceded to his fox. 

When it was over and the doe was crumpled at his knees, Stiles was swimming in energy. It rushed through his veins, merging with every molecule and atom. He remembered this, he’d felt the echo of it through his connection to the Nogitsune during the days he’d been missing. It had killed then, something he’d never told anyone, but there’d been a wall between them and Stiles had been only a distraught witness. But he understood now as he hadn’t before; the euphoria the demon had craved, the taste of it, the essence of emotions that made up a soul.

Crumpling in on himself, Stiles moaned, “I don’t want it.” 

But he did. The void he’d opened was stretching and begging for more and he wanted to satiate it, wanted the exquisite feeling taking a life had afforded him in those fews seconds of utter bliss. 

Hearing the pleasure in his voice that he couldn’t suppress, Stiles gagged. 

Crawling over to the Tree, he placed a shaking hand onto the wood. It was harder this time, the doe’s energy too much a part of him already to loose it all, but he pushed until it was swirling along his arm into the stump, bright lights flickering and draining into the wood. He didn’t stop until the energy cut off, no more to be given away.

The fae was laughing when it hauled him to his feet once more. Stiles fell into its arms and blinked stupidly, woozy and high, still floating with the bits of doe energy that were too entwined with him to go free.

“Well done, our own heart!” the fae chortled gleefully, hugging Stiles hard. “You are as capable as we hoped!” It spun Stiles around, and he would have tripped over his feet if he wasn’t being held so close to the fae’s hard chest. 

“When the Tree called us home after so very long, we came, but couldn’t start the healing,” the fae confided. “We had given up that right when we fled after the felling. Our magic would no longer sustain the Tree or create growth.” 

It ran its hands over Stiles’ face and neck, brushing along his claim scar. Stiles flinched, feebly batting away the touch, but the fae just stroked his hair, a strange gesture that gentled Stiles’ protestations almost immediately.

“We were despairing, but then we were shown you; the connection already there between yourself and the Tree. You had stayed, unwilling or unable to cut your ties to the Tree, ties created when you gave your life for your father. And you were capable of taking sacrifice, not just giving of yourself. We saw it so clearly. Your fox, the part we lacked, would allow you to do what was necessary to heal the Tree! You were the one we needed, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. Perfectly tied to the Tree, perfectly capable, perfectly ready to be ours.”

Stiles was trying to follow along as he sagged in the fae’s embrace. “You were the fae protector before me? The Tree is the reason you chose me, how you found me?”

“Yes, and yes! And you agreed to our taking you, agreed to being ours! And we were right, you are perfect!”

Stiles held onto the fae’s arms and lent back to look at it. “I agreed to being fae?” He didn’t remember any such thing.

The fae touched Stiles’ face, pride and deep wanting clear to see as it stared at him. “We came to you, took you in your sleeping moments. You were already so open to us, to the Tree. We stepped right in, started the change. You fell into it so easily, young changeling fae. Our own.”

Stiles remembered everyone telling him he took to being fae with ease. He’d thought they were stupid for saying so. “My mind … was open?” he whispered.

“To us, to the Tree. You gave yourself to us, never looked back, never wanted to.” 

Stiles summoned all his strength and pushed out of the fae’s grasp, falling onto the snow. Both deer were crumpled a few feet away, their hooves twisted together. Bending his head, Stiles vomited, the sandwich he’d eaten with Cue coming up and splattering over the ground. Heaving until nothing was left in his stomach, he curled up on the snow as the fae stood over him, watching dispassionately. 

There should be sadness or at least regret for what he’d done to the deer, but only pride swelled in Stiles’ breast, pride that chased down self-recriminations and showed him how hollow they truly were. As hollow as the void within him, waiting to be filled.

***

Derek found him as dawn was rising, the light helping Stiles to emerge from sleep and open his eyes as Derek gave a gentle shake to his shoulder. 

Eventually having gotten up from the snow last night, Stiles had cleaned himself up before flaking out on the Nemeton stump. Just that had taken an extraordinary amount of energy and had left him in a stupor, wide open to sensing the deer’s lives being used by the Tree to grow new shoots. One had come up between his fingers, curling over his pinkie, and was still there. 

Derek was looking at it with alarm, causing Stiles to turn his head. He couldn’t see anything untoward, only his hand encased in tiny leaves, the shoot winding along his wrist in swirls and curlicues. The life in it beat against his skin; a fluttering of minuscule growth, untraceable to the human eye but a siren song to a fae.

Derek started to pull the shoot away and Stiles reached out lethargically with his free hand, making him stop. As Derek watched, Stiles touched a finger to the shoot, silently asking it to let go. After a slight pause, the shoot unwound, trailing along Stiles’ forearm in one last caress before it lay on the stump, completely still. It then faded from sight, still there, but hidden in the astral plane, safe from harm.

Stiles and Derek looked at each other for a long moment, until tears formed in Stiles’ eyes and Derek’s image blurred.

“Stiles-love,” Derek soothed, and touched Stiles’ face very gently. “What happened?”

Stiles couldn’t help but glance towards where the deer lay. Derek’s eyes followed, his brow knitting and his mouth turning down. There was an understanding in his eyes that cut like a hot knife right into Stiles’ heart, into the place that should feel the deer’s deaths more keenly than he actually did.

The gaping void was still waiting, wanting more, and Stiles knew his future. He’d seen the danger of addiction in his dad’s police files over the years. He’d seen it in the driving force behind the Nogitsune’s actions. He’d opened a Pandora’s box he didn’t know how to close. 

“You can’t pull me back up,” he said to Derek, voice breaking. “I’ll just drag you down.” Curling onto his side, he started to sob quietly.

Making soothing noises, Derek climbed onto the Nemeton. He pulled at Stiles until he was leaning back against him, then braced him with one leg either side, warm strong arms coming around to enfold Stiles in a hug. Stiles leant his head on Derek’s shoulder, his hands clenched against his own chest. Perhaps, if he pressed hard enough, he’d find something more substantial inside than just the beat of his heart tripping against his ribcage.

***

Time passed in a distorted wave as Stiles slept, curled up in Derek’s lap. There was only himself, Derek and the Tree. And dreams of deer.

The dreams were innocuous to begin with, showing the buck and doe living in the preserve with their herds; running under the trees; resting in shade; eating fresh shoots, leaves and bark and drinking clear water from streams. The doe was too young to have given birth, the buck too inexperienced to have mated. Their short lives were days of relative peace and nights of the same. 

Then there was a call of such quality they could not resist, did not want to. They followed the call, relaxed and filled with peace and trust. 

Then suddenly there was fear, ripe and pungent, as an unexpected predator tore into them, each breath becoming a struggle of lungs, each eye roll showing the sky and ground swooping into one conglomerate of white. Darkness came as blood vessels burst and corneas flooded and hearts slowed into death.

The deer dreams merged with Stiles’ memories of twisting the Oni sword into Scott and taking his pain, then merged again into Stiles draining everything. This time with no one there to stop him; his hands were stained black as Scott’s life rushed into him, leaving Scott lifeless and cold on the clinic floor. The ecstasy of killing the deer heightened how good it felt to rip into Scott and dig out his agony.

Stiles woke with his dick hard and so aroused that he retched, but with nothing in his stomach all it did was hurt. Lying limp and dehydrated in Derek’s arms, he fell asleep again, only for the dreams to repeat.

Waking up one time, he found Derek leaning over him with snow-melt held in a curl of tree bark. “It’s all I could find close by,” Derek apologized, brow furrowed and his face pinched with stress. 

Stiles thanked him with his eyes, a shaking hand resting on Derek’s wrist as they tried to get the water and ice slush into his mouth. Most of it ended up down his chin but Stiles sucked up what he could like a dry sponge.

“Should we leave?” Derek asked the next time Stiles woke. “I’m worried being here isn’t helping you.”

Stiles made a noise of protest. He needed to be near the Tree, however much that seemed at odds with the situation. 

When he woke again, they were still in the clearing on the stump. He was lying on his side, his back up against Derek’s leg, Derek’s hand resting on his shoulder.

Snow was falling. 

Small gentle flakes drifted in a downward dance so slowly Stiles could track their individual paths with human sight. They drifted sideways when near the Tree, falling outwards onto the ground. 

Wanting a better look, Stiles pushed up onto one elbow. 

The only place the snow wasn’t landing was on the Nemeton itself. It was a large brown circle in a grove of silent white. 

Stiles’ gaze travelled over to where the deer should be, but they were gone. The ground wore a fresh coating of powder, making the area pristine and eliminating any signs of anything having happened.

“I moved them,” Derek said from behind him. “Before it started snowing.”

“How long was I out?” Stiles asked, quietly.

“Two days.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek. “Well, fuck. Is my dad okay? Ramona didn’t do anything, did she?”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “He’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Sitting up properly, Stiles grimaced, feeling a coating of filth covering him that needed to be cleaned away. The rivers were frozen, but he could use his sunlight magic to melt a hole in the ice. Enough to bathe, at least. He scratched at one arm absently.

“Stiles,” Derek began, cutting into the quiet with noticeable reluctance, “did you kill the deer?”

Stiles curled his fingers into a loose fist and bumped it against the side of his thigh. “Yes.”

Derek was watching him very carefully, making Stiles drop his gaze and wonder what Derek was thinking. It was hard to tell when he didn’t want to look Derek in the eye, or use their claim or his fox, to get a handle on his wolf’s feelings. 

Instead, Stiles did his best to count the concentric circles of Tree life, starting in the middle of the stump and going outwards. He got lost at sixty seven, or possibly thirty four, because the years were so tightly packed together at those points.

Derek tapped him on his knee. “Was the fae the one who told you to?”

Stiles frowned, not liking the tone Derek used; like he was already blaming the fae. “It was a sacrifice. And a lesson.”

Derek contemplated that for a bit, voice softening when he asked, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Stiles shook his head. “But not because I don’t trust you,” he quickly added, his finger following a thicker-than-average line somewhere near the centre of the Tree. Good year that one, obviously. Maybe it had rained a lot or the fae protector, if there had been one back then at the beginning, had managed to maintain balance of the Tree’s magic. Good for them if that’s what had happened. Maybe it had been Stiles’ fae. 

Derek curled his hand around Stiles’ wrist, stilling the tracing. Lifting their joined hands, he brought them to his lips, kissing the back of Stiles’. It was his thing, Stiles realized. What Derek did when he needed to connect with the broken boy he’d chosen to tie his life to. Stiles remembered when Derek had kissed his hand under the sycamore tree before they were together. It had aroused and confused him then. It comforted and warmed him now.

“When you’re ready,” Derek told him, “I’ll be willing to listen. If it helps any, I’ve killed and eaten my fair share of deer, even before I could turn fully. I enjoyed it and I’d do it again.”

Stiles was once again overwhelmed by Derek’s intuitiveness. It sparked a wanting inside him that replaced the hollow ache. He shifted slightly where he sat.

“There’s something else,” Derek added. “I’m no longer in Scott’s pack.”

“What, why … what?” Stiles spluttered.

Derek laughed a little. “It’s not a big deal, if you’d thought about it you would have worked it out on your own.”

“Why?”

“My pack bond unravelled because you and I are bonded and claimed,” Derek said, shrugging. “I go where you go.”

Stiles couldn’t really grasp how Derek seemed so calm. “You’ve lost another pack,” he blurted out.

Derek smiled. “I have the pack I want.” He kissed Stiles’ palm this time, closing Stiles’ fingers around it and holding the kiss inside. “And just in case you didn’t get the implication, I meant you.”

The warm feeling inside Stiles grew a bit more. “No, I got that, thanks.” He moved slowly, placing his arms on Derek’s shoulders, straddling him before clasping his hands behind Derek’s head and threading fingers through dark stands of hair. “I love you,” he said, needing to hear his own voice say it out loud.

Derek’s smile got bigger. “I love you, too.”

“My wolf,” Stiles proclaimed, an added edge to his tone as he thought of Derek leaving Scott’s pack to be with him. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Derek agreed, sounding just as adamant. His hands were tight on Stiles’ thighs.

“I’m yours,” Stiles continued, moving closer so they were touching along chest and groin and moaning low in his throat at the heat rising between them.

Derek’s hands moved to Stiles’ ass and held on. “You are,” he agreed. His eyes were shining, his gaze hard and determined. 

“You okay with right here?” Stiles asked. “Because I want you inside me ten minutes ago.”

Derek hitched Stiles closer, leaving no space between them. “No sacrifice? No fae mentor lurking about?”

“No,” Stiles promised. “And I don’t think so.”

Derek lifted Stiles’ t-shirt over his head. “Good enough for me.” 

Teeth clamped onto Stiles’ claim mark, and Stiles melted while he burned.

His jeans were torn from him and he lost himself to the taste of Derek’s mouth and the feel of slick fingers up inside, incessantly pressing until he shivered and bit Derek’s tongue. Being lifted and dropped down none too gently onto Derek’s dick, Stiles was right where he wanted to be; their claiming bond thrumming strongly, the mark on his neck feeling tight and hot.

Groaning, Derek flipped them, lying Stiles down on the Nemeton and sliding Stiles’ legs up over his shoulders. Stiles dug his heals into Derek’s back, lifting his ass and pressing his dick into Derek’s abs. The movement caused Derek to slide in a fraction more and Stiles hissed in satisfaction, chuckling when Derek growled in agreement. 

Derek flattened him back down onto the stump, sending a jolt up Stiles’ spine that added a moan to his laughter. He ran a hand down Derek’s neck as Derek rubbed his jaw under Stiles’ ear, tickling with his stubble while he rolled his hips.

Stiles started laughing again, trying to work with Derek to get a good rhythm. When Derek kissed him on the mouth, Stiles was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. Their bond was full of contentment on both sides, with a loose joy floating through it that Stiles wanted to revel in.

“I’d do anything for you,” he admitted. 

Derek looked at him for a long time, saying nothing but slowing his movements while his eyes traced what felt like every part of Stiles’ face. Stiles stared back, inches from Derek’s eyes, watching them as they flit over his mouth, his nose, up into his hairline even, before coming back to lock gazes with him. 

Their next kiss was with their eyes open, gentle and sweet, Derek’s finger coming up to trace Stiles’ lips.

“I love you,” Derek said, as Stiles kissed the tips of his fingers. He ran his hand down a leg where Stiles still had them both over Derek’s shoulders. “You okay?”

Stiles nodded and hummed. “More than. You?” 

Derek punctuated his nodding with another languid hip roll. Stiles moved with him, enjoying the feel of his wolf inside him. Raising his arms above his head, hands loose and relaxed, he felt so open but also utterly safe. It was a wonderful combination and went on and on, unfolding into bliss as Derek rocked above him. Stiles was floating in a fog of arousal and contentment, the bunching and release of Derek’s muscles making him sigh in pleasure. 

“Stiles,” Derek moaned, his hips moving faster as he clasped one of Stiles’ knees with a clawed hand, leaning closer to kiss and breathe together, noses rubbing.

Stiles was sticky with pre come, both their stomachs tacky with it, when he reached down to grip himself. One touch and he was on the edge. 

Derek’s eyes shined blue and he snarled. 

Stiles came to thoughts of fang and fur.

***


	9. The Target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking away the tether.

Stiles shuffled out of the shower, dripping water down the hallway as he entered Derek’s bedroom. 

He’d wanted to bathe in one of the rivers to clean himself but there hadn’t been time; his dad had phoned Derek while they lay entwined on the Nemeton, demanding to see them both. Apparently Derek had been holding him off the past two days, but he was determined and already on his way to the cabin. 

The thought of seeing his dad caused Stiles’ heart rate to rise and he had to shake out his hands to stop the adrenalin prickling through them. He’d been through the same thing just after he’d put Brine in the Tree; worried his dad would somehow know what he’d done. Now he was going through it because of the deer and it was illogical and annoying. History showed unless he did something momentously stupid, like tell his dad what happened, he’d be okay. 

When Stiles was dressed, he walked down the hall into the main living area, humming a wordless tune and tapping his fingers along the back of the sofa. Rotating his head on his shoulders, he tried to loosen up muscles that had tightened since his dad’s call.

A knocking on the door had Stiles coming back to himself with a start, and Derek’s hand on his shoulder made him jump again. He must have looked like a twitching puppet; the slightest tug making him react.

Derek hesitated, giving him a questioning look as the knocking came again, this time more insistent. Stiles swallowed and reached up to touch his claim mark, trying to get a handle on himself. When he felt slightly more at ease he nodded, and Derek left his side to open the door.

His dad came barreling in like nothing was going to stop him, a force of pent up energy that only calmed when he saw his son. He sighed in relief and held his arms out for a hug, advancing on Stiles. “Thank God. Derek said you were sick. Are you okay?”

Stiles backed up, panic making him create the widest distance between them without actually leaving the room.

His dad stopped short. “Kiddo?”

“Do you want a coffee or tea, Noah?” Derek interrupted, shaking his head almost imperceptibly at Stiles as he moved into the kitchen. 

Stiles sent him a look of desperation which went unheeded.

“Coffee’s fine, Derek, thank you,” Stiles’ dad answered, removing his jacket after an awkward pause and placing it on the coat rack. When he turned back to Stiles, he was frowning. “What’s wrong? It’s not that pack thing Scott was talking about, is it? Because you know I don’t go in for all that supernatural nonsense.” 

Slightly affronted at his dad’s wording, Stiles' anxiety cleared a little.

What he felt must have been noticeable, because his dad looked apologetic and muttered what sounded suspiciously like a curse word. “Scott can tell me all he wants that I’m one of his pack or whatever, but you’re my son, Stiles, not him, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all that matters.”

Stiles flicked his eyes towards the kitchen where Derek was calmly spooning out coffee beans. To the uninitiated it looked like he didn’t have a worry in the world, but Stiles knew every part of him was ready to lend assistance if required. Turning back to his dad, having to say something when he was being looked so expectantly, Stiles said, “Thanks,” and hoped it was enough.

It seemed to be, as his dad relaxed a little bit more. “So what’s this sickness you had?”

Stiles did his best to deflect. “It wasn’t anything to be concerned about, just a slight flu. Everything’s fine.” 

His dad clearly heard the lie. “Hmmm. What was it you told me about never catching anything ever again?” When Stiles just shrugged at him, he folded his arms. “Try again, this time with a bit more truth thrown in there.” 

Stiles’ face felt wooden as he looked through his dad, seeing the doe with its amber eyes staring at him. He shook his head the tiniest fraction and the doe faded away. “I’m fine now.”

There was another knock on the door and Derek paused in pouring the coffee. He shot Stiles a wary look, then said, “Come in, Scott.”

Scott stepped into the house. Immediately picking up on the stilted atmosphere, he slowly closed the door behind him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Clenching one fist behind his back, Stiles tried to settle the spike of anger that rose within him. He slowed his breaths and shook out his hand, bringing it back around to his side.

“Guys?” Scott asked.

“We were about to sit down to eat,” Derek told him. His eyes slid over to Stiles and his dad.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, relieved for an excuse to move. “I’m about to make sandwiches.” He walked around his dad into the kitchen, snagging the bread loaf out of Derek’s hand. “Peanut butter okay with everyone?” he asked with forced lightness, not caring how they answered.

His dad and Scott murmured their agreement, coming to stand on the other side of the bench, Scott sliding onto one of the bar stools. Derek continued making coffee, asking if Scott wanted one, while Stiles slipped the loaf of bread out of its bag and onto the cutting board. 

He reached for the bread knife and instead found himself holding the Oni sword, delighting in turning it in Scott’s middle and feeling the give as it tore through important organs. Scott’s blood bubbled up over the blade.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looked up into Scott’s eyes, where he sat across the kitchen counter. The remembered feel of Scott’s pain and fear were sharp explosions of taste so pure as to be almost mind-numbing.

“You okay?”

Stiles clenched his jaw, swallowing around the excess saliva flooding his mouth. 

Sharing a look with Stiles’ dad, Scott asked, “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Scott’s agony floated in the air; a redolent cloud Stiles couldn’t help but breathe in like the sweetest of perfumes. His resolve steady, he turned his wrist once more, enjoying the resulting spike of pain as the sword went deeper. There was always more to find. It was possible to make pain never-ending. 

Scott cried out and Stiles chuckled, resting his hand on the side of Scott’s head. The pain rippled into his palm and he spread Scott wide as he delved deep, drinking his fill and reveling in how much it destroyed Scott to have his best friend feeding off him.

There was a firm but gentle grip on his wrist and Stiles flinched violently, finding Derek suddenly very close, holding his arm and taking the bread knife, putting it out of reach. 

His dad and Scott were silent, but their wide eyes and worried expressions were practically screaming at him. 

Stiles’ heart was pounding out of his chest and his arousal was a painful thing that had nowhere to go. He wanted … something. He wanted … Grabbing at his head with his free hand, the other arm still in Derek’s grip, the deer screamed as they fell and Stiles whimpered in distress, closing his eyes.

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek instructed, sliding his hand up Stiles’ forearm onto his chest. “Breathe with me.” Derek pressed his hand against Stiles’ heart and it felt like recrimination. 

Wrenching himself away, Stiles backed up against the sink. “I’m fine. I’m not having a panic attack.”

Derek kept his hand outstretched in entreaty. “It’s okay, let me help.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m broken!” Stiles snarled. He stalked out of the kitchen, Scott wisely moving out of his way as he came around the bench. 

His dad unfortunately stood his ground and hooked Stiles by the elbow. “Stiles, don’t walk away, talk to us.”

Stiles twisted out of his dad’s grasp, wanting their concern to be somewhere other than on him. He didn’t need it, he didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it.

“Dude, what was that?” Scott gestured towards the kitchen. “You went all strange, it was like …” He looked towards Stiles’ dad, a shared fear evident between them.

“Fuck off, Scott,” Stiles sneered. “Seriously, why are you even here?”

Scott looked affronted. “I’ve already told you why, more than once. There’s no need to be a jerk about it.”

“Don’t start this again, Stiles,” his dad warned. “You’ve been doing so well since Deaton spoke to you.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” Stiles exclaimed. “I’m so tired of it!” He backed up into the brightest part of the room, glancing at the sunlight on his skin. The aspen forest sounded mighty appealing.

Derek had followed him out of the kitchen. “You don’t need to go,” he said, guessing Stiles’ intentions. “Your dad and Scott will leave instead.” 

Stiles hadn’t wanted to go, not really, not without Derek, so he fixed Scott with a dark glare. “Well? Get going.”

After a tense stand-off where Scott glared right back, he let out an explosive breath and left the cabin, walking down the porch steps and onto the forest floor. Stiles watched him through the windows as he strode off through the trees. 

When Scott was gone, he turned a satisfied smile on his dad. “Your turn.”

His dad held up both hands, remaining calm, which was unlike his normal reaction when Stiles did something he disagreed with. “I’ll go, just let me do one thing first.” 

Stiles glanced at Derek, who shrugged, leaving it up to him.

When Stiles didn’t object, his dad walked towards him, keeping his hands up in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, sounding like a cop trying to talk someone down. Slowly encasing Stiles in his arms, a gentle hug followed that had Stiles standing stiff and silent. “I love you, kiddo.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, his chest tight.

“I know something more happened than you just having the ‘flu’,” his dad said quietly. “Whatever that was just now proves it.” 

Stiles said nothing and the moment stretched out, the silence almost as damning as any confession.

His dad sighed. “I’m not going to push this time. If you need my help, just ask and I’ll do whatever I can.” 

Before Stiles could choose to move away or hug his dad, or even just breathe without it catching in his throat, his dad let go, only to cup the back of his neck and give him a look that left Stiles shaking. 

“Derek, I expect you to do what’s right by him,” his dad said, letting Stiles go and removing his jacket from the coat rack.

Derek nodded. “Always, Noah.”

His dad was almost out the door when Stiles called out, “Dad!” When his dad paused, Stiles found himself drawing a blank, unable to figure out how to say what was in his heart. He looked at his dad, hoping everything he couldn’t say would be heard anyway.

Resting his hand on the doorframe for a second, a small smile gracing his mouth, his dad nodded, before closing the door and walking down the cabin steps.

Derek came up behind Stiles and wrapped his arms around his waist. “You handled that a lot better than you would have only a week ago.”

“I wanted to punch Scott in the face and the only thing he did wrong was show up,” Stiles was able to think about it clearly now it was just the two of them. “How’s that handling it?”

Derek rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “A week ago, I would have been worried you’d actually do it.”

“You’re being kind when you say a week ago,” Stiles allowed. “Try a few days at most.”

Derek shrugged, his chest pressing up against Stiles’ back. “You’re also able to talk to me about it rationally. That’s new.”

A flash of the Nemeton came to Stiles’ mind; the growth climbing upwards, the green shoots a bright brilliance against the crispness of the snow and darkness of the stump. An inkling of a thought started to form. He was intertwined with the Tree, so would it be too forward to think his attitude was linked to its healing? There was a half-remembered conversation with Deaton that Stiles thought may have touched upon this.

Derek’s hands smoothing over his stomach broke his concentration. “What have you just worked out?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing,” he immediately replied, then frowned and admitted, “Well, maybe something.”

“And?”

Squinting at Derek over his shoulder, Stiles was sure his next words would be met with opposition. “I need to speak to the fae.”

Sure enough, Derek’s eyebrows lowered, along with his arms. “I’ll come with you.”

“What? Derek, no, you can’t.”

Derek stared at him. “The last time you went off alone, the fae convinced you to kill a couple of deer, the act of which left you in a semi-comatose state for two days. Or did you forget about that?”

Stiles pulled at his top lip with his teeth. “No, I didn’t forget, believe me. But that’s not the point.”

“What is it then? Tell me why I can’t go with you.”

Rubbing one finger across his chin, Stiles was tempted to lie. It would be easy and efficient. But he’d promised Derek he’d be truthful when he could. “Fine,” he capitulated. “I don’t want you there.”

Derek didn’t look hurt or shocked. “Thought so. But I’m coming anyway.” He held up a hand, stopping Stiles’ protest. “You say I’m wrong when I worry about the fae manipulating you. This is an opportunity for you to prove it. If you stopped separating me from this part of your life I could understand it better.”

Stiles made a noise of surprise. “I don’t do that.”

Derek scoffed. “You segment your life with a proficiency that is somewhat terrifying. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, maybe it’s not, but your fae life is shrouded in secrecy from everyone who loves you. You can’t expect support and understanding when no one knows what your life entails.”

“I don’t do that to you,” Stiles argued.

“What really happened with the deer, Stiles? Why does your skin glow now when you change? What magic can you do? What does being the protector of the Nemeton actually entail?” Derek shook his head in exasperation. “I can guess but that’s all it is. That’s all I’m ever doing.”

Stiles rubbed at one arm, unable to dispute the ugly truth of things.

Derek gripped his elbow. “I’m not telling you this to guilt you or make you feel bad. I’m just explaining why I’m coming with you and why you’re going to let me.”

Stiles nodded.

“Good,” Derek sighed. “I’ll just be a second, then we can go. I need to check if Chris has any updates on the fae hunters.”

“Why would he?” Stiles asked, confused. “You said they haven’t done anything.”

Derek pulled out his phone. “He’s been watching their house; the one Cue’s cousin mentioned, remember?”

“Oh.” Stiles didn’t remember but rather than own up to it, he said, “That’s clever.”

Derek snorted as he thumbed through his texts. “Chris has his moments.” Frowning, he put his phone to his ear. “There hasn’t been anything for a day. I’m calling him, then we’ll go.”

Stiles nodded again while wandering towards the front door. He wanted the sun directly on him; the feel of the earth under his feet; the winter air settling on his skin. 

Jumping over the porch steps onto the forest floor and breathing easier as soon as his feet touched the snow, Stiles looked up, sighing in pleasure, watching the blue that peeked through the gathering gray clouds. Another storm was on its way.

A sharp pain hit his chest near his shoulder, causing Stiles to grunt and look down in surprise as a numbness travelled down his side. A long dart, complete with bright blue feathers sticking out of his shirt, seemed to be the cause of it. The dart was surprisingly pretty and reminded him of the ones used by jungle tribes to take down monkeys.

“You’re kidding me,” Stiles exclaimed; because prettiness aside, what the fuck? Why was he always being injected with shit? His left leg gave out and he went over on his side.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled, jumping down onto the forest floor.

Stiles tried to spot the bastard who’d darted him. They were going to hurt, they were going to hurt so much. As soon as he could get up.

There was a cold wet nose nudging at the side of his face and a paw scratching at his back. 

Everything would be okay. His wolf would deal with whoever was out there. And if Stiles managed to get up, he’d deal with them, too. He didn’t need rescuing this time. He had magic, he was fae. He was capable. He was not the victim.

Stiles struggled to his feet, placing most of his weight on his right foot. His left side wasn’t completely numb but his arm hung limply by his side and his neck had a strange lopsided feel to it. 

Derek had disappeared into the forest, echoing snarls the only indicator to where he was. An unknown person yelped in pain, and Stiles smiled with grim satisfaction. Derek was taking care of things.

“What will you do, Stiles, when today is over?” 

Ramona’s voice came from behind him, making Stiles curse and spin around. The forest kept spinning after he stopped. 

“Gray eyes. Remarkably beautiful,” Ramona complimented, her red pants and matching jacket making her stand out like a bleeding target against the snow. “Is that the extent of your physical changes or is there more?”

Seeing Ramona so close to the house had Stiles wondering how Derek had not sensed her coming. Where was Derek? The growling had stopped and everything was worryingly still. 

Trying to call out, Stiles found his mouth slipping sideways, dribbling off his face, and the ground coming up to meet him as he collapsed once more. Clutching at the snow, he pushed up on his right arm, refusing to be knocked unconscious yet again.

Stiles’ elbow gave out and he just managed to stop himself from face planting by rolling over onto his back. His body started to shake, teeth clicking shut and jaw bone creaking with the pressure, neck muscles cording tight enough to hurt. 

Hot shocks ricocheted through him as his magic went haywire, twisting like a live eel, slippery quick and evasive, jabbing at him without letting up. Stiles could do nothing but twitch and groan. Blackness beckoned at the corners of his mind, but he was fucking fae and he was not going down to another fucking needle!

At some point, his body stopped fitting and Stiles lay still, unable to move his limbs for lack of strength. Everything felt heavy and weighed down, stretched and pulled. His jaw felt like it was lying on his stomach, his stomach on his knees. 

His eyeballs were on his cheeks, but he watched with seething hatred as Ramona came to stand next to him, boots just inches from his head. Her face reminded him of an eagle’s as she peered down at him; long black hair loose and feathering around her face, her eyes piercingly cold and unfeeling.

“Interesting,” she mused. “Still alive. Still fighting. That’s good, Stiles. It means we can continue.” Her gaze travelled down Stiles’ body and she nudged his side with the toe of her boot. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.”

The nudge made Stiles’ hip slide down his leg where it got stuck on his knee, which slithered down to his foot. His foot became a puddle.

There were crunching noises as someone walked across the snow and a man in camouflage snow gear came into sight, carrying a rifle equipped with a silencer in his hands. “We’ve acquired the werewolf, Ma’am,” he told Ramona. “He’s subdued, the toxin administered.”

Stiles whimpered and tried to put his body back together in order to get to Derek, but a twitch of his right hand was all he achieved. He wanted to hiss and yell, but only another pathetic whine came out.

Ramona smiled. “Excellent.” She looked back down at Stiles. “This should be very educational, I think.” She gestured to the man and they moved out of Stiles’ line of sight. 

Stiles tried to lift his head but it rolled uncontrollably to the right, his ear immediately feeling as if it were melting into the snow, while the other one dripped slowly over his nose to the ground. He blinked stupidly with his eyelashes sticking to his eyebrows; his eyebrows floating towards his hair; his hair falling out strand by strand. Only his heart was exempt from whatever was pumping through it, fucking him up. It was keeping double time.

Someone cried out and there was a stumbling sound, the man coming back into view and crumpling by a nearby tree as his gun landed in the snow. 

The side of a tree exploded above Stiles’ head, showering him in bark flakes and the snow puffed up around Ramona in short bursts as she started to duck and weave, bark splintering off trees as she ran. Stiles was aware enough to figure out someone was shooting at her and he hoped a bullet caught her in the head. Unfortunately, somehow Ramona evaded each shot, continuing to run, calling out for her people. She disappeared quickly, not once looking back to her fallen man.

There was silence in the forest, broken only by Stiles’ harsh panting. Then there was a thudding sound, someone tearing through the trees and dropping to his side, but his head was turned the wrong way and he couldn’t tell who it was. 

“Oh God, Stiles!”

Scott.

Stiles felt a rush of extreme gratitude, knowing Scott would help. But why wasn’t he out there saving Derek right now? Why was Scott here with him? He groaned and tried to roll his head back but it proved too difficult. Frustrated tears ran down his face.

Gentle hands turned his head back to the sky and Scott came into view, his eyes frantic as they roamed over him. Seeing the dart, he wasted no time in pulling it from Stiles’ shoulder. It felt like a foot-long piece of metal was being wrenched through him and Stiles cried out, arching up off the snow, only to fall down with a jarring sensation. He glared at Scott.

“Sorry!” Scott grabbed Stiles’ hand and held it to his chest.

Looking at his hand, Stiles found it strange it was attached to his arm and fingers. They’d been melted over the snow a moment ago. But it was definitely his hand clutched in Scott’s, a tiny trickle of black making its way up Scott’s skin before stopping.

Scott frowned and gripped tighter. “Your hand is like ice.”

His hand did look a little blue, but as he couldn’t feel it, Stiles would take Scott’s word for it.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled at him.

Stiles opened his eyes. There was hardly any pain. Some muscle soreness from the fitting, but the biggest problem was his body lying in pieces. “Der … ek,” he slurred through a jaw that moved like it was glued shut. “Wherrres Derrrek?”

“I don’t know,” Scott answered. He looked away, listening to the forest. “I can’t hear him.” He sniffed the air. “Wait, that way.” He pointed a bit over from where Derek had run into the trees earlier.

“Fffind, goooo …” Stiles ordered, wanting to push at Scott to get him moving.

Scott looked distressed but then his face settled into its stubborn expression. “I’m staying with you,” he stated. “Chris will find Derek. You just …” his eyes did another sweep of Stiles’ body, “… stay awake.” Stiles glared at him once more, and Scott choked off a somewhat hysterical sounding laugh. “Yeah, and do that. Just don’t close your eyes again, okay?” He placed his palm on Stiles’ forehead, which was interesting, because all of a sudden it was back where it should be, not in a puddle with Stiles’ hair on the snow. “Jesus, Stiles, you’re burning.”

Stiles looked at the hand Scott still held. His fingers were definitely blue now. How very curious. He stared back up at the sky, concerned that Argent may not have found Derek yet. Wait. Argent?

Shaking Stiles’ shoulder, Scott pressed where the dart had hit, causing a jolt of discomfort. “Stiles! Chris is coming, stay awake!”

Grumbling, Stiles wanted Scott to shut up, but most of his attention was on the Nemeton magic which had started to course its way through his mind. The connection between them was flowing strongly and Stiles was very tempted to tumble down into the vast river of magic that rushed around him, soothing with its embrace as it picked him up and hugged him close.

Then everything started to hurt. 

Pain travelled down Stiles’ shoulder from where Scott clasped it, across his chest, alternately burning and piecing his body back together as it went. His stomach lifted back into a tight ball below his chest. His spine re-alined. His legs cramped up as his knees and feet popped back into place. His head was enclosed in a vice as each part of it slotted back where it should be and his brain burned; lit on fire and pulsing with magic.

The pain ended as quickly as it had come, leaving Stiles breathing but severely unfocused, still swimming with the Nemeton. Its magic slowly drew back, fading into the background of his mind but leaving everything blurry; the trees above bending in Van Gogh swirls and Scott a twisting kaleidoscope blob.

There was movement next to him on the other side from Scott, another blob bending over him. It wasn’t Derek, Stiles could tell that much, and he instinctively yelled and lashed out, getting a hold of his magic and pushing with everything he had.

There was a startled yell and cursing and the whiff of something burning, and Scott grasped his arms. “Stiles, calm down! Calm down!”

Desperately wanting Derek, Stiles reached for the claim and found himself sinking deep. Derek’s heartbeat thumped against his own but it was much slower than his, and a creeping, slithering mass was folded up against it. As Stiles tried to keep Derek with him, the mass pulled Derek away.

Stiles blinked his eyes open. 

Argent and Scott were holding him down, Argent’s shoulder and left arm of his jacket showing burns and stinking of melted plastic fibers. He had a rifle slung across his back and it was obvious he’d just rolled on the ground, his clothing and hair damp and snow-flaked. “Since when could you sent people on fire?!” he exclaimed furiously, before growling at Scott, “Did you know he could do that?”

Scott shook his head, his shocked gaze never leaving Stiles.

“Derek!” Stiles called out, not even sparing a moment to be happy he could speak once more, or that he could apparently set people on fire. “Let me go! Where’s Derek?!” He fought their restraining hands until they released him.

Argent glared and stood up. “Well, you seem to be fine now.” He motioned with his head to Scott. “Come help me.”

“With what?” Stiles wobbled to his feet. “Where’s Derek?”

Argent was almost through the tree line. “Scott, get over here,” he barked out.

Scott shot Stiles a quick commiserating look, then ran after Argent.

Stiles took a step and folded down onto one knee, hands in the snow for support. He cursed under his breath at how weak he was.

Before he could get up, Argent and Scott were back, carrying an unconscious Derek between them. They put him down in the snow gently, Scott folding to his knees beside Stiles and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

Stiles was too busy running his hands over Derek’s chest to shrug him off. The slight rise and fall under his palms made him want to weep in relief. Heart beat, check. Breathing, check. 

Swallowing hard, Stiles tasted blood and pressed his tongue against where he’d bitten the inside of his mouth. “They administered a toxin,” he told Scott. “Can you tell how he is?” 

Scott looked at Derek’s slack face, listening. “His heart beat’s really slow,” he said, confirming what Stiles had felt through the claim. 

“We need to get him to the hospital.” Stiles looked up pleadingly at Scott then Argent. “Right now.”

Argent squatted down and reached out, pulling back one of Derek’s eyelids. Derek’s eye stared sightlessly ahead, shining supernaturally blue. Argent then pushed up on Derek’s top lip, displaying fangs which were smaller than normal but very noticeable now that Stiles was focusing on detail. Argent didn’t really need to pick up Derek’s hand and show the claws that were there; Stiles knew where this was headed. 

“No hospitals unless you want everyone to start panicking and knowing about werewolves,” Argent said needlessly.

“I’ll call Mom,” Scott said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder before standing up and pulling his phone from his jacket pocket.

Argent moved away as well, over the snow towards a slumped figure tied to a young aspen tree. It was the guy who had fallen at the beginning of the shooting, Stiles recognizing him as the bastard who’d spoken to Ramona. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, so he turned back to Derek.

Skin starting to pale, Derek felt cold to the touch. “Just the weather,” Stiles said to himself, rubbing one of Derek’s hands between his own. “Keep breathing, Der,” he whispered. “And wake up.” 

Derek remained the same, lips partly open, eyes closed in what looked to be a peaceful sleep. Stiles didn’t believe it. He wanted to dive back down into their bond, check again, try to wake Derek up that way, but lying in the snow was the not place for it.

Coming back, Argent pointed over to the restrained man. “He’s still out cold. Should be a little while yet.”

“He’s not dead?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask, his resentment clear and sharp.

Argent’s gaze was piercing. “They were tranquilizers, not bullets. I try not to kill humans.”

Stiles sucked down his snort. Humans were monsters, too. He looked back at the unconscious man, eyes narrowing. “You going to question him when he wakes up?”

Nodding, Argent made a affirmative noise. “Very little will probably be gained as information from prisoners rarely pans out, especially if they’re trained to resist. But we’ll see.”

Stiles desperately wanted to ask what would happen after the interrogation was over or even if he could help, but Argent’s scrutiny of him was pretty blatant, so he said nothing else.

Noticing how pale Derek had become, Argent gestured towards him. “He needs to get inside.”

Just then, Scott finished his call, so he and Argent hefted Derek up between them. “Mom’s on her way, her shift just ended. She said to get Derek warm, try to rouse him, keep an eye on his vitals, that kind of stuff.”

“All the normal requirements,” Stiles agreed as he tried to stand once more. He got about halfway before he wobbled over into the snow. He thumped at his legs, trying to get the trembling to stop.

Scott frowned at him. “Stay put, I’ll come back and help you.” 

Carrying Derek quite proficiently with Argent taking half the load, Scott was up the porch and into the house before Stiles had gotten control of both legs.

He’d managed to balance by the time Scott jogged back to him. “I’m fine,” he insisted automatically, when Scott offered assistance.

“You’re not, so shut up and let me help,” Scott ordered, surprising Stiles with the force behind his words. With Stiles hanging awkwardly off his shoulder, Scott practically dragged him into the house. 

Argent was creating a fire in the fireplace, Derek propped up on the sofa in front of it. Scott deposited Stiles next to him.

Stiles checked Derek over again, sighing to himself as Derek kept sleeping. “Could I get a glass of water?” he asked the room in general.

“Yeah, sure,” Scott agreed and went into the kitchen.

Stiles slid onto the floor in order to settle Derek more comfortably across the sofa cushions, putting his feet up and placing his head down gently so he was lying comfortably.

The fire was starting to catch, Argent having coaxed it alive from cold embers. Squatting next to the grate, he fed kindling into the fire’s heart while watching Stiles.

Ignoring him, Stiles pulled a blanket up and smoothed it over Derek, running fingers across Derek’s cheek and noting how his color was improving and his skin was no longer chilled. Pressing a kiss to Derek’s jaw, Stiles settled on the floor by his side, head resting on the sofa. The heat from the fire was very welcome and he had to fight to stay awake.

“Makes sense,” Argent observed. 

Stiles shot him a sideways glance without moving. 

Argent put one last piece of wood into the fire and closed the grate. “You need water to heal, correct?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You got that from me asking for a drink?”

Argent raised his own brows. “You’re a nature supernatural after all. Do you require earth as well?”

Scott came back, handing a glass over to Stiles. He looked bewildered. “What?”

Taking the glass, Stiles lifted his head enough to take a large sip. “Water will help enough right now,” he begrudgingly admitted.

“I take it fire is also helpful?” Argent pressed, gesturing to his ruined jacket where Stiles had apparently burnt it with his magic.

“Sunlight,” Scott interrupted. “Derek said sunlight helps.” An embarrassed look crossed his face. “Stiles, sorry, I just …”

“I know, Scott, just stop.” Stiles took another sip of his water and closed his eyes.

Argent looked out the large window, taking in the sky and how cloudy it had gotten. “The sun won’t be much help today,” he mused. “It was my next guess. Our family notes mention fae healing to be attached to the elements.”

“Information gotten from torturing them,” Stiles guessed.

“From the druid who was with my ancestor, actually,” Argent corrected. “My family have never hurt any fae.”

“Not from lack of trying, I’m sure.”

“That’s entirely possible.”

Stiles curled his lip up but instead of snarking at Argent some more, he finished his drink and put the empty glass down on the floor. Then he got onto his knees and grasped Derek’s shoulders in order to shake him. “Derek,” he called out, “wake up!” He shook him again with more force. “Hey!” 

Derek remained unresponsive. It was entirely disheartening, although not surprising. 

Exhausted from such little effort, Stiles sat back on his heels, resting one hand on the top of Derek’s head, fingers curled into his hair.

“This is strange,” Argent spoke up. “I don’t know of any hunters who use this kind of weapon.” He was holding the dart that had shot Stiles, making sure not to touch the tip. The blue feathers looked almost iridescent.

Stiles couldn’t help but be condescending. “Considering Ramona’s people shot me with it, I’m going to guess her hunters use it.” 

“What did it feel like?” Argent asked, ignoring Stiles’ barb. He leant over and placed the dart on the table. “Don’t touch,” he warned.

“And here I was going to lick it.” 

Argent gave Stiles a withering look. “What were the symptoms? The more detail you give me the easier it will be to know what it was.”

“Why is that necessary? It sucked, alright? What more do you need?”

“Stiles,” Argent looked at him like he was an ignorant child, “we can stop it from happening again if we know what we’re up against.”

“Oh, of course.” Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling stupid. “It felt like my body was melting but there wasn’t any pain, not until the end.” 

Pulling down the neck of his shirt to where the dart had gone into his skin, Stiles took a look. There was an ugly dark hole below his clavicle the size of the dart tip, but no blood. There were however several black lines tracing their way out from it, making the whole thing look like a spider in an unfinished jagged web. 

“Jesus, Stiles,” Scott gasped.

“That can’t be good,” Stiles observed mildly, thinking of the Lichtenberg lines he’d had when the Nogitsune was poisoned. He pressed against the skin around the hole with one finger, feeling a throbbing start up in response.

“It could heal with no other symptoms,” Argent advised.

“Was it iron?” Scott asked. “I know that’s bad for you.”

Stiles shook his head. “It didn’t feel like iron. That causes a pulling inside, burning and pain. Not shaking and hallucinations.” He squinted, remembering how awful direct iron poisoning was. “There was a similarity, though. Maybe iron with something else added?”

“You were hallucinating?” Scott asked.

“Did you miss the part where I said I was melting?”

Argent nodded. “I can think of several possibilities. The problem is, I have no idea how fae react to things. What does mountain ash do to you, or wolfsbane?”

“Nothing that I’ve noticed. There’s herbs that fuck me up, though. They’re on a list you got from Brine’s phone. Maybe it’s some of them.” For the life of him, Stiles couldn’t remember what the herbs were.

“We need Deaton’s help,” Argent decided. “He’ll have more knowledge about what was on the dart.” He looked at Scott. “I suggest you take it to him as soon as possible.”

Scott nodded, picking up the dart between careful fingers and taking a quick sniff. “All I can smell is you,” he told Stiles as he pocketed the dart. “Maybe …”

“What?”

“Shove over.” Scott moved closer to Derek and made shooing motions when Stiles hesitated. “Let me check something,” he insisted.

Stiles shuffled away from Derek’s side. “Check what?”

Leaning over Derek, Scott took a deep breath. “He smells off. There’s something … it’s like …” He took another breath. “Licorice,” he concluded in surprise. “It smells like he drank it.” Scott shot a look up at Argent. “That mean anything to you?”

Argent pursed his mouth. “Maybe. Check his tongue, see if it’s black.”

Stiles gently opened Derek’s jaw and the three of them lent in, Stiles and Scott giving each other confused glances at Derek’s perfectly normal-looking tongue.

“Was there supposed to be something?” Scott asked.

Argent grunted. “Black licorice can stain people’s tongues. It may have given us a lead on the toxin they gave him. Licorice can be poisonous but I don’t know how you’d administer it for it to act so quickly.”

“What does licorice poisoning do to someone?”

“Creates heart issues, among other things.”

Stiles quickly looked at Scott, needing reassurance.

“Derek’s heart is fine,” Scott told him. “Slower than normal, but steady.”

Stiles remembered Derek’s heart beating in his chest, alongside his own. Pressing his nose up close to Derek’s mouth, he took a breath in but couldn’t smell anything other than the wolfy forest scent he normally associated with his wolf. Sitting back, he put one hand on Derek’s chest, feeling each slow thump of his heart. “You sure you’re smelling licorice?” he asked Scott.

“Yeah, it’s actually quite strong. You can’t smell it?”

“Nope.”

Argent leant over and took a sniff without getting as close as Scott or Stiles had. “Nothing,” he agreed.

“That’s weird, right?” Stiles asked, worried.

“It’s helpful,” Argent determined. “If the only one of us who can smell it is a werewolf, we can assume Derek didn’t get a big dose.”

“Or maybe there just wasn’t a lot of it in the very big dose of other stuff it was mixed with,” Stiles argued.

Scott’s phone chimed and he glanced at the message. “It’s Mom, she’s at the end road. I’ll send her up and head over to the clinic.”

“I’m going to go wake up our guest,” Argent told them, reminding Stiles about the guy tied up outside. “I shouldn’t have left him alone for so long.” He pointed down the hallway. “Is your bathroom down there? I’ll set him up in it.”

Stiles glared. “You’re not bringing that bastard into this house.”

Scott looked surprised. “Dude, the guy must be freezing. We can’t leave him outside. A storm could be coming.”

“He’s wearing army fatigues designed for it, Scott,” Stiles said, scathingly. “He’ll be just fine.” 

“I can’t interrogate him outside,” Argent insisted. 

“You can and you will,” Stiles said, flatly. “This is Derek’s house. I’m not having him wake up to find the enemy has been inside it.”

Scott’s phone chimed again. “I’ve got to go.” He looked between Stiles and Argent who were glaring at each other. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

“I’ll make no such promise,” Stiles shot back.

After a pregnant pause, Argent chimed in. “No one’s going to die today, Scott.” He gave Stiles a withering look. “I promise that.”

Stiles’ mouth twitched up in a sneer and his eyes travelled down to Argent’s ruined jacket sleeve. Maybe he could set fire to him again; have his own Burning Man in January.

Argent stared at Stiles for a while longer before conceding. “I’ll keep our guest outside.” 

Scott’s expression was one of concern. “We’ll work this out, Stiles. Derek will be fine.”

Stiles gave nothing away. “I know.”

“Then we’ll stop Ramona,” Scott added.

“I know that, too.” There was a lecture coming and Stiles wondered if he cared enough to listen to it. 

Maybe Scott read his mind or was just short on time, because he only gave Stiles an enigmatic look before saying, “I’ll call when Deaton has something.”

***

“Derek’s okay, Stiles.” Melissa gave him a reassuring smile. “Apart from being unconscious and his heart beating slower than normal, his vitals are fine and he looks good.” She gave Stiles a once over. “Which is more than I can say for you. When did you last get some proper rest?”

Stiles blinked at her. “The fire’s making me sleepy,” he excused. “And I sleep.”

“I’m sure,” Melissa replied.

“Should I move Derek to the bedroom?” Stiles inquired before Melissa could prescribe him bed rest alongside his wolf.

“Can you manage?” Melissa asked. “No offense, but I’m worried you’re dangerously underweight.”

Stiles waved a hand. “I’m fine. Fae are skinny.”

“And you know this how? Have you met a lot of them lately? Only, that’s not what I’ve been hearing.”

Stiles shot Melissa an unimpressed look and pulled the blanket up around Derek’s chin. “Scott’s been telling you everything. He just can’t help himself.”

“We all talk, Stiles. It’s all we ever do in regards to you lately. Your dad talks to me. Scott does, too.” Melissa raised her eyebrows and nodded when Stiles side-eyed her. “Oh yes, mister. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’ve been putting him through.”

“He deserves it!” Stiles hissed.

“Maybe,” Melissa allowed. “But when does it change from him deserving it, to you wanting someone to blame for the trauma you went through? You’re in a lot of pain but Scott didn’t cause all of it.” After saying her piece, Melissa pulled Stiles into a hug. It was soft, and required nothing from him, and she didn’t seem to care when he stood stiff and unresponsive in her arms. She just held him tight and rubbed his back. Well before Stiles was up for it, she let go and stepped back, pushing Stiles’ hair out of his eyes. “You need a hair cut,” she told him.

Stiles shrugged, using the motion of brushing his hair back down to hide wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Melissa turned away, giving Stiles time to regroup. “The blood test results may take a while but I’ll try to pull some strings,” she said, re-checking the saline drip she’d set up. 

Stiles hated seeing the tube resting on Derek’s arm, needle going into his skin. It made him feel so helpless. 

“Change the bag when it gets low,” Melissa reminded him. “Just do it exactly like I showed you and there won’t be any complications.” She refrained from giving Stiles another hug before she left, but she did touch his arm in a move that was reminiscent of her son.

When Melissa was gone, Stiles smoothed out Derek’s blanket for the hundredth time and kissed him on his forehead. “Just keep breathing, my wolf.” 

Now he knew for sure Derek wasn’t in immediate danger, Stiles’ curiosity about Ramona’s man and what he may be able to tell them was at the forefront of his mind, so he headed outside. 

Argent was crouched over the man, talking intently. Seeing Stiles, he stood up and met him halfway, halting Stiles’ determined press forward. “Stop and think a moment before you do something stupid.”

“I’m not going to do anything to him that he didn’t bring upon himself.”

“Stiles,” Argent put his hand on Stiles’ chest, “will you hurt him?”

Stiles shoved the hand away. “If I need to.”

“It’s too soon,” Argent told him. “Pain just makes people say what they think their torturer wants to hear.”

“This from a hunter who comes from the very family that defines what torture is,” Stiles spat. “Get out of my way; this asshole knows what he did to Derek, he’ll tell me and then he’ll pay for it. Or the other way around, whichever works. I’m flexible.”

Argent shook his head. “I understand how you’re feeling but if you go down this path it will only end in a bloody corpse and you feeling worse than you do now. I’ve been there, Stiles. Trust me.” When Stiles tried to move around him, Argent blocked him once more. “You don’t want to do it this way.” 

Stiles' magic was sharp and cutting and came to him easily when he called it. Wanting to put Argent down right then and there, he gave him one last chance. “Move.”

“No,” Argent refused. 

Stiles was about to push with his magic, with no thought to what it may do but honestly interested to find out, when the doe was suddenly standing near Argent’s side, her eyes staring in quiet accusation. Stiles’ breath whooshed out of him, his magic unravelling. 

When he blinked, the deer was gone and Argent was holding Stiles’ elbow like he was worried he was going to fall over. 

“What do you suggest?” Stiles wheezed out, looking away.

“Talk to me first,” Argent offered, dropping his hand. “What do you want to learn from him?”

“I want to know what Derek was poisoned with, obviously.”

“That was the first thing I asked. He’s still a bit woozy from the tranquilizer, but he said he doesn’t know.”

“And you believe him??”

“No. We will come back to it, though.” 

Argent steered Stiles further away from where Ramona’s guy was tied up. He fiddled with his phone for a few seconds before handing it over. “Here, it’s the feed from the cameras I managed to install around Ramona’s house. Nothing inside unfortunately. How about you keep a watch on them.”

Stiles stared at the phone. “You know where she is?” An idea started to form.

“Derek sent me the information. Don’t you remember? Cue’s cousin was silly enough to tell him the general details of where they were staying. It didn’t take me long to find it.”

Stiles didn’t remember that. “Is this how you knew to come help us?” he asked, looking at the screen which showed the front of a huge house with wrap-around lawn and circular driveway. “You saw them leave and followed them?” 

There was a man in the video walking around the garden edge, trying to be inconspicuous but obviously guarding things.

“Yes, but I didn’t know what they were doing, not until Derek called me. By then it was too late.”

Stiles frowned. “You couldn’t have warned us before they came right up to the front door?”

Argent shook his head. “I didn’t know where they were headed. Derek never gave me his address. When I told him what was happening, he was the one who figured out where we were. There were only seconds between that and you getting shot.”

Stiles’ gut tightened. Derek hadn’t trusted Argent to know where he lived. Stiles got the feeling he’d grossly misunderstood his wolf’s reasoning behind working with Argent, seeing a deeper friendship than what there really was.

His eyes flittered over to Ramona’s man, who was keeping a wary eye on them and trying to get comfortable in the snow. The ties around his knees and ankles were making that difficult. Not to mention the ones around his wrists and chest, holding him to the tree. Argent was taking no chances of him getting free.

Argent tapped his phone to get Stiles to look back at it. “That’s your job right now.”

Stiles knew when he was being fobbed off but he swiped to the second camera angle, one encompassing half of the house including the back door. “Where is this?” He still couldn’t remember Cue’s cousin ever giving the address.

Argent eyed him. “That’s information I’ll tell you when I think you won’t do anything rash. We can’t barge in.”

“You can’t,” Stiles flicked through the camera angles again, “but I can. I’m not letting her get away with coming after Derek.” He clenched his jaw, thinking of how much worse it could have been. “Ramona’s a nut case and the sooner she’s stopped, the better.”

“She’s not crazy,” Argent refuted. “The background information I’ve found shows her to be an intelligent person, one who thinks through every move before she makes it. Derek wasn’t her end game here, you were. You still are. And if you stopped to think for a second, you’d realize it’s true.”

Stiles scoffed at him. “As Derek’s currently unconscious and I’m not, what the hell makes you say that?”

“She’s had you in her grasp, not once but twice, Stiles. And both times all she did was set you up in order to see how you fared, then let you go. Ramona’s curious. Fae are notoriously secretive and real knowledge pertaining to them is rare. Werewolves are common hunts.” Argent shook his head when Stiles went to object, pointing a finger at him. “She’s playing you. She has you on a line like a fish, pulling you in and letting you go, tiring you out before she lands you. And you’re letting her.”

“I’m not doing anything she wants!” Stiles hissed out, baring his teeth.

“You will be if you go barging in there. I bet you didn't even think about the fact we could set her up, did you? One phone call and we could have the whole police force come down on her. It’s a safe bet there would be a lot of things in that house that could put her away for years.”

“Sure, the police, meaning my dad. He’s going nowhere near her, you understand me?” Stiles got up in Argent’s personal space. “If you bring him into it, I’ll take you down.”

“I believe you,” Argent said, way too calmly in the face of Stiles’ anger. “But she doesn’t want the police gunning for her. She won’t touch your father. She hasn’t even touched you, not in any way that would hold up in court. She’s being very careful.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes before throwing up his hands. He walked away in agitation, then stalked back. “You’re working off the notion that Ramona won’t hurt my dad, but what if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong. But logically, it fits.”

Stiles remembered something which pulled him up short. “She asked what I’d do when today was over.”

“She’s testing you,” Argent surmised. “There’s more to this than a group of hunters trying for the Nemeton. It may be their ultimate goal, but she has others as well. This won’t end for her until she gets everything she wants. I’m guessing here, but it’ll be to wring you dry of everything you are and everything you know about the fae.”

Stiles thought of what he knew; not as much as everyone seemed to think. Even the ‘information’ given to him when he’d finished changing was more instinctual than hard facts. It allowed him to be who he was, to perceive nature, to become part of it. It helped him to do magic, but he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know all of fae history, he didn’t know any huge fae secrets. What he could put into words were things he’d learnt himself through trial and error. Lots of error. Most of who he was, was secret even from himself.

“Ramona won’t be getting anything useful from me.”

“You seem very sure,” Argent commented. “That’s a good thing but don’t rely on it.”

“What’s the time limit on her plan, do you think?” Stiles wondered. “Could we push her to slip up?”

“Normally I’d say yes, most hunters try to square away their hunts as fast as possible to minimize losses, such as the lives of their members and money spent. But Ms. Meahn seems to be operating differently. I don’t think she’s on a time limit. Or at least, not one that runs out any time soon.”

“So she’s here for the long haul,” Stiles guessed. “Until she gets what she wants, or she dies.”

“Perhaps you should be thinking more along the lines of her going to jail,” Argent recommended.

Stiles nodded, trying for sincere. “Yeah, of course.”

***

Interrogation was boring. Incredibly so.

Never having seen his dad do an interrogation and not because he hadn’t asked more than once, Stiles was still sure they moved faster than the snail crawl occurring outside. He knew there were certain techniques such as befriending, deprivation, bargaining, but he’d expected Argent to be more hard-core, more hunter-like. More bloody. Being fae had cured him of any squimishness he'd had about the red stuff. He would happily watch Ramona’s man bleed all over the snow if it got him the information he needed.

Having given up that Argent was ever going to get anything useful, Stiles was sitting on the floor next to the sofa, resting his head back so he was touching Derek, while hunting through Argent’s phone. Nothing was happening on the camera feeds of Ramona’s house, so he was snooping. If Argent hadn’t thought far enough ahead when he’d handed his phone over, that was his problem. 

Stiles paused in the D section of the contacts, seeing that Deaton was listed. An unsettling thought came over him. Sure, there were many things Argent could be in contact with Deaton for and maybe he was just being paranoid or vastly self-invested, but Stiles had an inkling he’d just discovered something neither man wanted him to know.

Argent’s message bank was empty, which was annoying but showed he wasn’t a complete idiot, so Stiles checked the phone log. Deaton’s number was first contacted around four months ago. About the time Derek had started working with Argent secretively. That was too much of a coincidence. Was Deaton the contact Argent had been reluctant to name when pressed on his source of information about Brine and the Nemeton? If so, why hide it?

Stiles was interrupted from his conspiracy building by the phone ringing in his hand. It was Scott, so he answered, smirking a bit when Scott paused in confusion at hearing his voice.

“Stiles, why do you have Chris’ phone? Never mind, I actually need to talk to you, you weren’t answering yours.” 

Stiles patted his pockets, not fazed when he realized his phone must be at home. 

“Deaton has some information on the dart,” Scott continued, “but he wants you to drop by the clinic.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, disturbed more than he wanted to admit by how very still Derek was apart from his breathing. “I’m coming.”

After checking the fire to make sure Derek stayed warm and smoothing the blanket over his chest, Stiles walked out the front door.

He crossed the forest floor to where Argent was crouched over Ramona’s man and held out the phone. “Scott called. I’m going to the clinic. You need to keep an eye on Derek, but that filth,” he nodded towards the man who glared back at him, “doesn’t come in the house.”

Argent nodded, taking his phone back. “Only up on the porch because of the weather.” 

Stiles looked up. The storm which had been building the last hour was now rolling in fast. Big black clouds darkened the sky and the temperature was dropping quickly. “Not even that,” he disagreed, eyes hard. “I don’t care if he catches the flu or drowns in a flash flood. He comes no closer.”

“Alright,” Argent agreed, backing down. “He stays where he is.”

Before leaving, Stiles took a moment to memorizing the man’s face. The large nose, the thin lips, the deep set eyes. Yes, Stiles would remember him. 

The man seemed to read Stiles’ intent because his calm veneer slipped the smallest bit, revealing a quick-flash glimpse of his true feelings before he shored himself back up. But it had been enough and Stiles got that same feeling he’d had when he’d punched Liam. Powerful. Capable. Not the victim.

A nasty wind whipped by, causing the branches of the trees to rattle against each other as Stiles turned and walked back towards the house, up the steps and inside. He checked once more on Derek, kissing him gently and wishing there was movement under his mouth instead of slack lips. 

“I’ll be very quick, Der. Feel free to wake up. I love you.” 

Exiting the house by the back door, Stiles felt like the storm was rumbling inside him, not just overhead. A building aggression waiting to be dropped on everyone. He clenched his fists by his sides and took a deep breath. 

When the sun’s rays pierced the clouds for a split second, it was all he needed. 

He disappeared. 

***

Stiles brought the storm with him, or so it seemed. When he arrived in the tree line just to the side of the animal clinic entrance the rain started pouring in sheets, plastering his clothes to his body and his hair to his head in seconds. Lightening zagged through the sky as he walked across the gravel. 

Before his hand touched the clinic door, Stiles paused, cocking his head. Druidic magic was surrounding the clinic; wards that dampened ill intent against the building. Letting his fae sight take over, Stiles had a look at the magic sitting on the walls. It was thick and somewhat unwieldily and wouldn’t take much to unravel, which in turn would hurt the druid who put it up because they’d experience the magic rebound.

With vengeful intent and a dark chuckle, Stiles pressed his own magic against the druidic shine and with just one thought swept the wards away, watching as the clinic’s protections died in a spluttering of sparks. Dispersed energy flung itself in every direction until, with a final spurt, it faded to nothing. 

Stiles laughed. He was still enjoying himself when the door to the clinic was flung open and Scott stood there. He cursed at Stiles, raising his voice to be heard over the storm. 

“You’ve set the animals off! You’re lucky there isn’t anyone else here. Look at you!”

Stiles looked down but saw nothing wrong, just a wet t-shirt and jeans. “So what?” 

Scott looked almost murderous. “Your eyes, Stiles! They’re glowing again!”

Stiles shrugged, going for uncaring, but he was annoyed at Scott once again showing how little he thought of Stiles being fae.

“Get in here before anyone sees you,” Scott ordered, holding the door open.

Looking around the empty parking lot, Stiles raised a condescending eyebrow as a rumble of thunder passed overhead. Scott scowled at him and Stiles’ dark amusement grew. He meandered inside, giving Scott a wink as he sidled past. 

The noise in the clinic was almost as loud as outside; animals barking, meowing and hissing, doors clanging as some threw themselves at the bars of their cages. There was even a loud squawking that could be heard through the cacophony.

Scott gave Stiles another dirty look before leaving to tend to the stricken animals. 

Stiles made his own way to the examination room where Deaton was sitting at the table, looking drained. His magic had taken a battering and lay over his skin like a wet blanket, no good to him in its current weakened state. He probably wanted to sleep for a week or more. 

Having the sense to dip his head to hide his amusement, Stiles couldn’t quite dispel a low laugh. Getting one back at Deaton for all the shit he’d pulled was immensely gratifying.

“Was that necessary?” Deaton asked, sounding annoyed. “I’m not here for your petty enjoyment.”

Stiles’ mouth twitched.

“I’m trying to help you, Stiles. You make it hard to do so when you pull stunts like this.”

Stiles tried to act contrite so he could look at Deaton without the urge to rub the druid’s magical failure in his face. He changed his fae sight back to human, sure the fading of his mercury gray eyes back to brown would help sell it.

Deaton breathed out, straightening in his chair. “I would advise you not to do it again. Out of curtesy if nothing else, please.”

Tipping his head, Stiles let the gesture speak for him. It could be taken as agreement if Deaton chose to view it that way. 

Scott entered the room having finished with the animals, worry pressed into the crinkle between his eyes. When he stayed silent, not continuing his barrage from before, Stiles wondered what he was playing at.

“I’ve been able to identify several compounds on the dart,” Deaton said, effectively catching Stiles’ attention. “With your permission I’d like to examine your injury. Scott said you had poison residue in your skin?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Stiles admitted, noticing the dart lying on the bench under the windows. Pulling off his wet t-shirt, he shook his hair, sending water droplets all over the floor. It may have been done on purpose but no one called him on it.

Scott sucked in a breath, eyeing Stiles’ shoulder. “Dude.”

Stiles looked down. The black lines on his skin had grown but also faded to a scaring pink, scrawling over his shoulder towards his elbow and dipping across his collar bone, around the hole, down his chest. He couldn’t see where the ones on the back of his shoulder ended, but he assumed they were much like the front of him. 

“Well,” he said with a forced light tone, “what now, Doctor?”

Deaton came closer, his hand hovering until Stiles gave him the okay to touch. Pressing lightly, then harder when there was no indication it hurt, he had Stiles turn around so he could examine his back. He ended by shining a light at the dart hole, which had also started to turn pink, while he used a magnifying glass to see closer. 

“Did it bleed when the dart was removed?” he inquired.

“No. It felt like a bone being ripped out, but no blood.”

Deaton hummed, pressing once more against one of the longer lines traversing Stiles’ upper chest before stepping back and indicating Stiles could put his shirt back on. “You’re healing, which in itself is an impressive feat without any assistance.” 

Turning to where the dart lay, Deaton picked up a small glass jar that sat beside it. Inside was a distinctive blue liquid, almost the same color as the feathers on the dart. “Distilled yarrow,” he explained, putting the jar down on the examination table. “There was also St. John’s Wort and iron filings mixed in. Yarrow is a restorative plant for humans but is said to have the opposite effect on fae, stopping them from healing. You’re lucky you only had a convulsive seizure and not bleeding on the brain. The hallucinations were indicative of it, but somehow you pulled through.” 

Deaton placed both hands on the table, the jar sitting innocuously before him. He was deadly serious when he said, “Stiles, I truly believe that if you weren’t who you are, you’d be brain dead right now. I think it’s fair to say the connection you have with the Tree saved your life.”

Stiles nodded, already aware of what had saved him. “Did she know?” he asked. “Ramona. Would she have known what it would do?”

“I believe so. But I would guess she was counting on the Nemeton saving you. Any other fae would be dead.”

“So it was a test. Argent was right.” The dark lick of anger that had been curling around the back of Stiles’ brain got larger. “She played with my life to prove I’m the protector.”

“It appears so,” Deaton agreed. “But you have to realize, Stiles, even without the Nemeton’s connection, you are intriguing. A fae living among humans? It just doesn’t happen.”

“Why not?” Scott asked. “Werewolves do it all the time.”

“Because it’s too hard,” Stiles answered, somewhat absently. “It can’t be done for years on end, it’s too much to handle.”

“But you manage it so easily.”

Stiles frowned, sensing no lie as Scott looked at him with genuine curiosity. Scott was a moron if he thought any part of Stiles’ life was easy. He was tempted to tell Scott where he could shove it, but according to Derek it was Stiles’ fault Scott held misconceptions in the first place. 

“That’s only one of the reasons why Stiles is unique, Scott,” Deaton continued. “But it also makes him easily accessible. He’s got a target on him miles wide. Even without Gavin Brine sharing his knowledge with others, Stiles is much too interesting to leave alone.”

Deaton picked up the jar with its herbal contents and put it back with the dart. “I’ve drawn a blank when it comes to the toxin used on Derek, I’m afraid. With no sample, it’s almost impossible to guess with any accuracy. Though the scent of licorice is both surprising and perplexing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a plant of protection. Licorice has been used for centuries in many different practices for its ability to rid the body of poisons.”

Scott made a noise of disbelief, mirroring what Stiles felt. “So you’re saying Ramona used a poison, that wasn’t poison? That makes no sense. Chris told us licorice was dangerous.”

“You should know this by now, Scott,” Deaton rebuked him gently. “In many cases, that which cures can also kill. Licorice is no exception. It is both. But that’s not why its use in this instance is so interesting.”

“Then why is it?” 

Stiles could answer this one. “Because it makes no sense if Ramona tried to kill, then save, Derek at the same time. Ramona’s guy said it was a toxin. Which meant she ordered Derek to be poisoned. Argent said she wasn’t after him but me, to see what makes me tick. What better way than to kill someone I care about?”

“Does she know about you two?” Deaton inquired.

“She knows enough to know where Derek lives,” Stiles pointed out, rationally. “But if Derek was meant to die …” he trailed off, unable to voice the next part because it was so utterly implausible. Helpful things did not happen just because he needed them to. That was not how his life worked.

Deaton nodded and took over, finishing Stiles’ sentence. “Then who was it that added the licorice so that Derek would live?”

Stiles’ heart beat faster. If not for an unknown person … “I need to phone Argent,” he suddenly realized. “He’s with Derek. What if they come back to finish the job?” He searched for his phone but couldn’t find it in any of his pockets.

Scott handed his over, shaking his head. “You don’t have your phone, remember? Anyway, we’re guessing. Maybe Ramona added the licorice just to screw with you?”

“She’s doing a good job of it, then. But I think we’re right about this.” 

“There’s more we have to consider,” Deaton added.

Stiles’ finger paused over Argent’s number. “Like what?”

“The other uses for licorice. Apart from being connected to love and passion, it’s been used for centuries to help those who have passed on to reach the Summerland.”

Scott scrunched up his face in confusion. “What’s the Summerland?”

“Heaven, the other side, whatever is waiting for those who die,” Stiles explained, knowing it from his research. He scratched at his nose as he tried to piece it all together. There was something obvious he was missing; he could feel it sitting just out of reach. “I need a pen and paper.”

Deaton produced them from a drawer and passed them across the examination table.

“What are you thinking?” Scott asked, leaning closer as Stiles started to write down what he knew. 

Stiles didn’t answer, too busy listing points. As he wrote, he drew connecting lines and didn’t pause to re-read. He wasn’t entirely aware of everything he was writing, just letting the flow of information pour itself out, a trick he used to bring his subconscious thoughts to light. Sometimes he knew a connection before he understood he knew it. His dad used the same technique for cases. 

When he stopped, he looked at his notes and was surprised to find that halfway down the page, he’d slipped into the shorthand he’d developed for school.

“I haven’t seen you do that for ages,” Scott murmured from near his shoulder, sounding pleased. “I’m a bit rusty, what’s it all say?”

Stiles scanned what he’d written, almost immediately seeing what he’d been unable to work out before. Something they all should have known from the start. He tapped his pen against the connected words ‘toxin’ and ‘death’. He’d put a question mark against the last one. 

“Ramona wanted Derek to die slowly. If she wanted quick, she’d have riddled him with wolfsbane bullets. A few to the head would be the most effective, but cutting in half with a sword is also a hunter favourite.” As he spoke, Stiles distanced himself from the fact it was Derek he was discussing, instead thinking about only the facts.

Scott whistled low. “You’re right.”

Stiles didn’t require Scott’s input, he knew he was right as things were starting to slot into place. “Someone added the licorice without her knowing. That’s not just a guess. It assists the dead in traveling to the other side, it doesn’t help with the actual dying part. So there’s no reason it would be of benefit to Ramona to add it herself.” 

“A delayed cure added by a second party makes the most sense,” Deaton agreed. “But to create it for use within a toxin would require someone with understanding that vastly outstrips your average magic user. While I’m well-versed in inoculations and antibiotics, I can’t think of any teachings which utilize the kind of chemistry-based herbal lore and sympathetic magic which would have been required. You’re looking for someone who has magical knowledge not widely practiced, and who specializes in chemical compounds.”

Stiles tapped the pen against his notes again. “Someone who has exceptional skill, opportunity, and the urge to help us or at least screw with Ramona.” He drew another question mark and circled it, running a line from it to the possibility of the toxin being tampered with. He added his musings in bullet form, underlining opportunity.

“Someone close to her?” Scott wondered, seeing where Stiles’ thoughts were going. “Someone we’ve met?”

“Could be,” Stiles agreed. “Someone on Argent’s list maybe.”

Scott picked up his phone from where Stiles had dropped it on the table. “I’ll have a look, see what I can work out, though it would probably be easier for Chris, seeing as this is more his thing than mine.” 

Stiles showed cautious surprise. “You have the list on your phone?” 

“I made copies in case we needed them,” Scott explained, shrugging.

Stiles looked away, not wanting his face to show what he was thinking. In the past, he’d always been proud when Scott did something smart and it seemed even when things were awkward between them, that still held true.

“You need to go,” Scott told him. “So go. I’ve got this.” He waved a hand, shooing Stiles away. “I’ll get mom to send over Derek’s blood work. Deaton can take a look, maybe it will give more clues as to who’s helping us or how to wake Derek up.”

Guessing it wouldn’t hurt any if Scott didn’t do as he said, as Stiles could look over the files himself, Stiles scooped up his notes and left. Walking outside the clinic, preoccupied with knowing there was something more he was missing, he didn’t remember the storm until he was blinking water out of his eyes. 

The day had slipped past him somehow, the world darkening with the onset of evening. The lightning and thunder had tapered off for the moment but the rain was turning to sleet, the storm clouds thick and angry looking.

Hurriedly folding his page of notes, Stiles tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans and flipped his shirt over it. “‘We ride storms’,” he quoted, thinking about the fae. 

If there was ever a time to learn a new skill, it was now when he needed to get back to Derek as soon as possible. How much different could riding a storm be to leaping through sunlight? The concept was basically the same, only using a different natural energy as a conduit. Right?

Not wasting time in thinking it through further, Stiles reached up with his magic, towards the huge energy ball in the sky. The rain and sleet felt like electric sparks and the weight of the storm came down on him, highlighting his insignificance in relation to the power nature wielded. Taking a second to ponder whether he should just run home, Stiles pictured Argent being overrun with Ramona’s hunters and Derek lying there unable to protect himself. 

Decision made, he closed his eyes and thought about the area in front of Derek’s cabin, hoping his magic did what it did best and achieved what he wanted without him understanding the intricacies of how. 

There was nothing, then a rushing gust of energy whipped around and the ground was swept from under Stiles’ feet, his stomach dropping as he rose into the air. 

When he opened his eyes there was nothing to see but storm clouds. Wind ripped at him, taking the breath from his lungs, stinging his face and hands. He was tossed around, limbs going every which way. Then everything stopped and a deafening silence that made his ears ring took up the space where the roar of wind had been before.

With an alarming sensation, Stiles fell, slamming into something that bent with the collision before hitting something that didn’t; the force of impact snapping his astral form out of his body and into the clouds. 

There was a ripple to the air in front of him, a wall of energy Stiles knew instantly was a telluric current. The storm interacted with it, the clouds twisting faster and the wind getting stronger as if the current was a magnet, energizing the storm and pulling it along the current’s path as it snaked along the earth.

Stiles was too close. He tried to move back but the force of the current was unbelievably strong. His astral body was unable to fight the pull and he was sucked into the shimmering energy.

***


	10. The Current

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm inside and out.

Stiles was in a telluric current connected to a storm. The very idea made his throat seize up. The fae had warned him lightning could disintegrate his astral form with a flick of its electric metaphorical finger. There was no coming back from that.

The storm was raging inside the current and the resulting mixed energy was intense. Stiles was surrounded by the deafening noise of wind, rain and thunder. It was such a slap to his senses it took him a while to notice that apart from the noise, the storm wasn’t touching him. There was not a spot of rain on his clothes and the wind screaming past didn’t stir a single hair on his head. He was floating, turning around slowly, almost peacefully. It was like he was in a bubble, bobbing along on a wild sea which had no ocean.

Stiles laughed a little bit. He felt rather fine for someone who had no physical body to feel. He wondered what had happened to his body; he’d hit something pretty hard before being separated from it.

Floating had its upside - it was so much better than falling. Stiles pushed his arms out to the sides, seeing if he could direct himself somewhere but he just kept bobbing along in slow circles; a cork on the wild, oceanless sea. If he was in the telluric current while in his astral form, did that mean he was in the astral plane equivalent of the current, or had he by-passed the plane entirely and was just in the current in astral form?

Stiles shook his head; he may be thinking a bit screwy. The sunlit telluric current had effected him in a similar way before the fae had rescued him. Speaking of the fae, where was it?

“Hey! If you’re out there, a little help would be welcomed right about now!” Stiles’ voice echoed in the bubble of space he was rotating through, carrying out into the storm. 

There wasn’t any answer but he hadn’t really expected one.

Stiles was slowing down. No, that wasn’t right, he still moved but now instead of floating aimlessly, he was going somewhere, the current pulling him along. Also, the storm noise was gone. The clouds were still whipping past, throwing themselves at each other only to break apart and crash back together, but it was done in a strange silent dance. And he could feel the wind now. The air moved his hair, brushed through his clothes, tucked him up in its folds and parted around him with a soft electrified touch. The rain was warm and his skin and clothes soon glistened with water.

Everything felt so … nice.

Had the fae lied when it said Stiles would be torn apart or had he gotten the hang of this telluric current thing without even meaning to?

That would be … nice.

“Hey, is someone there?”

Twisting around awkwardly where he floated, Stiles scanned the clouds for a sign of whoever had yelled. From inside a telluric current. 

“Anyone there?” the voice called again. “Please? Is anyone there??” The voice sounded so lost. “Oh, my god! Thank you!” The voice came from behind Stiles. “I thought I saw someone!”

Stiles spun back around. 

There was a man floating along in the wind, the clouds moving between the two of them before clearing enough that they finally got a good look at each other. Stiles caught sight of white camouflage gear and recognized the face.

“You!” he hissed.

“No!” The man held out his hands. “No!” He tried to move away, but the telluric current perversely swept the both of them together in a giant wave of energy.

The shocked face of Ramona’s man loomed closer and Stiles grinned and snatched at him, catching his wrists and grinding them harshly in his hands. The man fought him, but it seemed being in his astral form was a hindrance in a way it wasn’t for Stiles. He had no strength. He gave up his struggles and slumped in Stiles’ grasp.

“Hell,” the man whispered to himself, defeated. “This is hell.” He wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes.

“I should rip you apart,” Stiles informed him. There was no denying he hated this guy. He’d promised himself if given the chance, he would make him hurt. But it was strange that out of everybody he could have met in the current, this was the person it should be. “Why you?” he asked.

The man just floated there, held in Stiles’ grip, head hanging down.

Stiles shook him. “Unless you want me to start using more force, you’re going to talk. Why are you here?”

The man looked up and a glint of defiance showed in his expression. “Why am I here? Why are you?? This is obviously my punishment and you’ve been conjured up to meet it out. But why you and not anyone else? I can’t explain it.” The man was talking to himself by the end, his gaze wandering. “This is a very strange hell.”

Stiles blinked at him. “What?”

“What happens next?” the man asked, suddenly looking at Stiles with a clear-edged focus. “Do we float here for all eternity until I profess my sins?”

“You think you’re dead?” Stiles asked, understanding beginning to dawn.

“I know it,” the man said with utmost assurance. “I got free of the bindings that turn-coat hunter had me in. Didn’t matter much though, because you crashed out of the sky like a vengeful angel and brought a tree down on me.” He paused, then slyly added, “Perhaps you’re dead, too.”

Stiles had been wondering. “I’m not dead. I’m fae. We travel the ley lines.” It could be true. After all, his fae creator had walked into one to save him and walked right back out like it was nothing. In any case, it sounded good and like he was in total control.

“Ley lines?” the guard repeated. “You mean, I’m not dead?”

Stiles smirked. “Oh no, I’m pretty sure you are.”

When the man died he must have gotten caught in the current. Such a strong natural energy near a human soul, it wouldn’t take much for them to merge; the bigger energy sucking the smaller right up. 

The man took Stiles’ confirmation quite well, merely nodding in a slightly dopey manner. Perhaps the dead didn’t worry about being dead, the worry being left to the living. Maybe the man hadn’t liked his life and being dead was a blessing. If that was the case, Stiles was going to change his view of it. 

Still holding the man’s wrists and with no intention of letting go, Stiles felt for his magic, not sure if it would work the same way in a telluric current as it did normally. He needn’t have worried. The magic surged and he dropped his glamor, sighing in pleasure and feeling so much better without it suffocating him. Even in astral form, Stiles felt the liberation of not hiding who he was.

As his magic reacted to the energy around him, Stiles lit up like a strobe had been turned on inside, his cloudy skin swirling in time to the storm surrounding them. His fingernails were strangely fluorescent and he guessed his sharp teeth would be shining too, so despite the strangeness of it all, he gave an open grin just to scare the man a little bit.

The man gave a strangled sort of yelp, staring into Stiles’ eyes, then at his mouth. He started to struggle again but was still weak as a newborn. 

Stiles ignored his ineffective pulling like he ignored the man’s garbled pleas to let him go. Instead he looked outwards, searching with his magic along the current, trying to sense where he was in regards to the earth. When he knew that, he’d know in which direction he needed to go.

“All roads lead to the Emerald City,” he mused, running his tongue across his top row of teeth while he thought things through.

The man seemed to gain a further spurt of energy from hearing him speak and struggled even more. Stiles enjoyed the man’s trying, it showed he had a strong spirit and that was good, but it took his attention away from his goal. He shook the man hard, just to watch his head snap back on his neck and to make him be still. The man stopped struggling, only his eyes rolling around in fear.

Finally, now he wasn’t distracted, Stiles remembered he couldn’t connect with the earth to figure out where he was. Hissing in annoyance, he decided to wing it, tugging at the current with his magic, asking it to take him to the Nemeton. He had a sacrifice to make.

***

Stiles took a moment to work out what he was seeing. 

They’d arrived in the Nemeton clearing without any complications, Ramona’s man collapsing at Stiles’ feet, having slipped further into his fear. Stiles kept an absent hand on his shoulder just in case he tried to bolt though that wasn’t a likely outcome; the man was limp as a wet paper doll.

The telluric current they were in ran right through the grove, bathing the entire area in its waves and merging into the Tree at the same time the Tree pushed its own energy outwards. Stiles had to admit to being a bit confused though, because he couldn’t see how the astral plane could be separate from the telluric current, which it had to be, as he’d been in the grove while on the astral plane without the telluric current interfering and yet here he was, in his astral form while in the telluric current. While in the grove. It just didn’t make sense.

Shaking his head, the fog from the current crowding into his mind, Stiles focused on the Nemeton which was an incredible sight to behold even without the energy from the current pouring into it. 

The sprouts which had emerged after the deers’ sacrifice had grown, turning brown and twisting together as tightly as bark and stood at just over waist height. Stiles couldn’t find a single sliver of space between them. They covered the entire stump, dark green leaves waving from every outer edge. The top was a circular carpet that looked like it could hold his weight with little effort. Everything was fresh and supple; the leaves waxy and full, the shoots solid and heavy-looking.

Stiles felt humbled by the sudden surge in the Nemeton’s healing. He was happy to see it but his stomach felt tight as he’d had no idea it was progressing so quickly. Being bound to the Tree he should have felt the changes taking place, but he hadn’t. 

There was a scuffling sensation on his leg and he looked down. The man had taken hold of his jeans with one hand, while staring with wide unseeing eyes out into the clearing. Stiles looked at him in disgust before grabbing him under one arm and hefting him up onto his feet. 

The man came back to himself slightly and his gaze landed on Stiles. “What’s going on?”

“Just a sacrifice,” Stiles answered, and pushed him into the Tree.

The man yelled as soon as he touched the shoots. It sounded more like shock than pain, but Stiles had hope. Held fast by the shoots and leaves like a fly to fly paper, the man struggled for a bit. Then he stopped, looked at himself, then the Tree, then at Stiles.

“Oh, come on!” Stiles complained, moving forward. To do what, he didn’t know, only that he’d wanted a bit more of a spectacle.

Before he could do anything, the Tree seemed to inhale somehow and the man went from solid-looking to see-through, shoots peeking through his nostrils. His mouth opened in a silent scream as leaves waved through his head. And then, he was gone.

It was so sudden and completely amazing that Stiles started to laugh. 

As new leaves pushed up from the carpet in the middle of the stump, shoots stretching and growing, Stiles did a little jig, skip-hopping around and shaking his booty. He laughed some more and wished his wolf could share what he was feeling because if anyone could possibly understand just how momentous this all was, Derek would.

Derek, who didn’t really like the Tree but that was okay because he liked Stiles well enough. 

Derek, who was … sleeping? Resting. 

Poisoned.

Stiles stumbled, looking around the clearing as he remembered. The fact he’d forgotten was beyond worrying. He hadn’t tried to leave the current before because he’d been afraid doing so would cause the man’s spirit to dissipate into nothing before the sacrifice was completed, but he should go now. The fae’s warnings about becoming trapped came back to him.

“Not happening,” Stiles said out loud, and tried to drop out of the telluric current as he did when in the astral plane. He went nowhere. He tried again, thinking of how the fae pulled him out of the sunlit current, hoping his magic would do the same. Nothing.

Breathing started to become an effort as panic threatened, but Stiles took a shaky breath in and held it, counting slowly in his head and trying to think clearly before he lost his train of thought.

Ley lines, telluric currents, whatever they were called, were pure energy. In his astral form, Stiles was a mix of spirit and magical energy. The current wasn’t going to give him up easily. Getting free was going to be like prying a glob of oil away from an oil spill using just the power of his will.

“I can do this,” Stiles muttered. “I am more capable than I think I am.” Derek was always saying he was, so he needed to trust he could put himself back into his physical body. 

Being a nature supernatural meant Stiles’ magic liked to interact with the world around him without conscious effort on his part. His cloudy skin was a good indicator of that. As was the ‘turning sunlight into energy’ thing. So if he wasn’t completely wrong, it stood to reason he needed to reduce the connection his magic had with the telluric current in order to separate himself from it.

Stiles pulled, picturing his magic coiling into his chest. As he did, he began to feel tight in his skin, filled to bursting and electrified. He smiled shakily, already noticing how things were changing around him. The current seemed to poke at him, sensing an intruder. The world took on a distinct haze and Stiles could feel himself loosing connection.

“Yeah!” he exclaimed, going to fist pump the air, but he was celebrating too soon. 

A force pressed down on him from every direction, edging fast into being unbearable. Stiles was going to split apart, be smeared across the current just as the fae had warned. 

He tried to find his physical body but having no real idea where it was, flung out the memory of Derek lying on the sofa, looking fragile. He pleaded to be let go, to go back to his wolf. He wished it with all his heart. But the current didn’t change, continuing to press down, bending Stiles to his knees.

He wasn’t going to make it. Derek would be left alone to the mechanisms of Ramona as Stiles wouldn’t be there to protect him.

“No!” Stiles yelled, swiping his arms out wide, his magic following the motion, knifing at the current holding him prisoner.

The current’s force swirled around him, parting under his magic, but it quickly came back, pressing into him once more. He threw out his magic again and again, trying to hold back the force and at the same time, reach for something, anything, that would help him escape.

There was a tugging at his navel. Stiles grabbed his stomach, thinking he was about to witness his insides being ripped out. But the tugging wasn’t the same as the force pressing against him from the current. The tugging persisted and Stiles remembered a sliver of information he’d read when researching astral travel. Supposedly there was an energy cord that tied the person to their body. He couldn’t see anything but the tugging suggested it existed. 

Stiles struggled to his feet and walked a few steps in the direction the tugging was coming from. It was like walking through mud, each footfall coming with a tremendous weight pulling at his knees and thighs. 

Gritting his teeth, Stiles flung himself forward, yelling. A sucking sensation swept over him and the telluric current and its force disappeared as the grove swirled away.

Stiles opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of Derek’s bedroom. 

Someone was breathing by his side. He knew it was Derek, having memorized the noise of his breathing and the dip in the bed that was his wolf lying near him. He could smell Derek’s forest scent. Hot tears of relief dripped down Stiles’ cheeks. With sluggish motions, he fumbled around until he found Derek’s hand and grasped lax fingers. His chest ached and a sob was punched out of him. He shuffled until his forehead lay along Derek’s shoulder. 

“Just … keep … breathing,” he whispered fiercely, shedding a few more tears.

***

It was midday when Stiles woke, curled up against Derek’s side. Looking at him, Stiles could see his lips were pale but his breathing was even and deep. The needle and drip Melissa had attached were still in place, a full bag hooked up and steadily dripping. There was a soft blanket covering them both from the waist down.

There was movement to the left of him and Stiles automatically jerked in shock. His dad was standing there, staring out the bedroom window. Stiles placed a hand over his racing heart and slowly began to sit up, pleased he had the energy to do so. 

His dad got a bigger shock when he turned around and saw Stiles moving. His mouth dropped open in surprise and he visibly took a moment to gather himself before coming closer. “Hell, Stiles,” he exclaimed through a soft sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled Stiles into a hug that smelt of Derek’s rich coffee blend and aftershave. “How’re you feeling?”

Stiles mumbled a noncommittal sound into his dad’s neck. “You got the day off?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Took a couple of sick days.”

“Why?” Stiles sat back. “You’ll need them if something important comes up.”

His dad muttered something incomprehensible to himself that sounded exasperated, then gave Stiles a stern look. “Maybe I took them because Scott told me Derek’s in some kind of coma. Or maybe because you were found unconscious.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think any of that would be seen as something important?”

“To be fair, there really wasn’t time to tell you about Derek,” Stiles began, but then stopped as his dad’s expression slipped into something a lot less neutral. 

“You screwed up,” his dad told him flatly. “I need to know when you’re in trouble. Do you hear me?”

Stiles dropped his head. “I hear you.”

“Right, now we’ve got that sorted, you want to explain to me why Chris found you like he did?”

“Ahh …” 

“A man was found dead near you, Stiles.”

“What man?” Stiles asked. When his dad looked skeptical, he held up a hand in question. “Honestly, Dad, what man?” He figured playing dumb was the best thing to do. A year ago he would have been filled with self-loathing for lying about something so important. Now he congratulated himself when his dad looked hopeful.

“You really don’t know?” 

Stiles tried to look as un-knowing as possible.

“As far as Chris can make out, a tree was hit by lightning in the storm and exploded, killing the man he was questioning.” His dad’s expression darkened. “I’m not impressed there was a hostage.”

“Dad —”

“Let me finish. Chris was inside checking on Derek when the tree fell. He found the man crushed to death and you lying nearby. What do you remember?”

Stiles tipped his chin up, finding the ceiling rather interesting to look at as he tried not to let his amusement show. Looked like Ramona’s man had described his death pretty spot on. “I went to the animal clinic then ran back here,” he lied. “The storm was pretty huge by that time. I remember getting home, but …” It was a good thing Scott wasn’t there to pick out the lie among the truth. Stiles wasn’t sure what his chemo signals were showing but he bet it wasn’t confusion.

“You were caught in the blast,” his dad told him. “Chris said you were unconscious but started mumbling nonsense right off. You responded to Melissa when she checked you over but we were worried about a concussion. I would have taken you to the hospital but Chris explained to me what that would do to you while you were too out of it to protect yourself.”

Stiles screwed up his face in question.

“The iron?” his dad pressed. “You wouldn’t have been able to take it and a big building has it in spades. Not to mention the hospital medical equipment.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Yeah, that could have been bad.” 

“Well it was a good thing Chris knew about it, because I sure as hell didn’t.” Stiles’ dad shook his head. “Was that why you didn’t want to sleep in the house when you first changed? Why didn’t you tell me? No, it doesn’t matter,” he shook his head again, “that’s in the past.”

“Dad …” Stiles said gently.

His dad sighed. “You’ve been asleep for the whole of last night and this morning. Pretty damn worrying, but Melissa was sure it was because of exhaustion. Scott and Chris said your fae healing would have healed any concussion, so I tried not to worry too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles told him and leant in for a hug. He couldn’t believe his luck. No one would question why he’d been out for so long if Melissa told them it was because he was tired. He pulled back and asked, “What happened with the dead guy?”

His dad gave him a strange look. “The morgue. The death is being attributed to extreme weather conditions. Ramona Meahn was advised, but the man wasn’t family and only worked for her. She couldn’t offer an explanation as to why he was here on his ‘day off’.”

“What a shocker,” Stiles interrupted, only to bite his bottom lip. Considering his dad was covering up a hostage situation, Stiles wouldn’t fault him if he went on an epic rant about abiding by the law.

“Parrish spoke to the man’s family back east and it looks like he was a survival enthusiast,” his dad continued. “It’s assumed he wandered from the preserve walking trails then followed the light from the house to seek shelter from the storm.”

“It’s a nice story,” Stiles said, unable to let it go. “All wrapped up, nice and neat.”

“Yes,” his dad agreed. “Consider yourself lucky. You and Chris both.”

Stiles waited. There had to be more. But his dad only sat there looking at him in a way that seemed grateful, rather than condemning. It made Stiles want to push further to know exactly what his dad was thinking, but a yawn cut his next question short.

“You’re still tired,” his dad noted. “Melissa said you would be. You should get some more sleep.”

Stiles shook his head, looking over at Derek. Now he was awake, there were things to be done. First being, he needed to go through his notes and Argent’s files. 

He rustled around under the blanket, going to slip a hand into his back pocket, but he was wearing different clothes than the ones he’d storm-travelled in. He was in a long-sleeved shirt and sweat pants. A quick check showed even his boxer shorts were new. “Who changed me?” 

“I did with Melissa’s help. It was all very professional, believe me.” His dad’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve lost too much weight.”

“Dad —” Stiles groaned.

“No excuses. You will eat more. I will force you if I have to.”

Stiles looked away. It wasn’t as if he was starving himself, he just never felt hungry.

“Mel found your summation,” his dad continued. “It’s readable, if a bit smudged from the rain.”

“You went over it?” Stiles was unable to remember how fluent his dad was in his short hand.

“Yeah. I know about you getting shot with the dart.” 

With a nervous hand, Stiles curled a strand of Derek’s hair behind one ear. 

“Would you have told me, or would this be just one more thing I wouldn’t know about?” his dad asked.

Stiles worked his jaw before admitting, “I wouldn’t have thought to tell you.” At his dad’s expelled breath of frustration, he hastened to explain, “You think I do it on purpose, but mostly I just forget.” 

His dad reached out and laid his hand on Stiles’ knee, his expression shadowed. “You forget?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “There’s been a few blanks in my memory but don’t worry, it’s just stress.”

“This something that’s just been happening lately?” he dad asked slowly.

“I guess so,” Stiles replied, amazed he was speaking about it.

“How do you know its happening?”

“Umm … someone mentions something I don’t remember.” Stiles started to rub at his elbow, an uncomfortable feeling edging up inside him. “It’s just stress,” he said again.

“Sure, stress,” his dad agreed, looking like he had something else he wanted to say but was reluctant to do so. 

Argent put his head into the room, seemingly relived when he saw that Stiles was awake. “We got the tox screen back,” he announced, not waiting for an answer before walking back down the hallway.

“Does he expect us to follow him?” Stiles asked dryly.

“You need to eat something anyway,” his dad decided. 

Stiles thought of leaving the room, even just to go to the kitchen, and swallowed, looking at Derek as he tried to work out a way around it. 

“He’ll be okay,” his dad said, guessing at Stiles’ reluctance. With a sad twist to his mouth he added, “The best thing you can do is take care of yourself, even though it’s the farthest thing from your mind.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Come on, you need to eat and it wasn’t a suggestion.”

Stiles waited for his dad to leave the room before placing a kiss on Derek’s forehead. Derek slept on, breathing slowly and quietly. 

***

Stiles stared at the instant noodles his dad placed before him as he slid onto the bar stool at the kitchen bench. He wasn’t at all hungry but was very aware of his dad’s gaze so he nudged the noodles with his fork. “Did you pick these up?”

Derek’s kitchen had been slowly growing bare. Stiles recalled a few steaks lying in the freezer and a loaf of bread in the bread bin. Maybe some fruit. That was pretty much it. With Derek focussing on his secret and hardly at home for meals, and Stiles not eating and refusing to go into town, they’d gotten slack with the grocery shopping.

“Scott was good enough to bring some stuff over this morning,” his dad explained.

Stiles eyed the noodles like they might bite him. “Scott brought me lunch?”

“Melissa may have had a few harsh words to say when she got a look at you, and the pantry had her fuming. Scott and I got caught in the cross-fire. You need to give him a break.”

Stiles ignored the reprimand. “Scott was here?”

“He wanted to check up on you.”

Stiles frowned and shoved the noodles away. Before his dad could complain, he stood up and walked over to the ‘library’ area. Derek liked the idea of having somewhere designated for reading and had called it the library as a bit of a joke. It was really just a few shelves, a table and a couple of comfortable chairs, set a little apart from the sofa in the main living area.

Argent was there, sitting at the circular table, drinking coffee and trying to appear as if he hadn’t been listening to everything Stiles and his dad had been saying.

Stiles leaned up against the floor length window, one foot on the sill. The glass was freezing and felt good against his back but the sunlight was even better. He could feel it giving him strength immediately. “What’ve you got?” he asked Argent.

“Derek doesn’t have aconite poisoning, which is good or he’d likely be dead already, but he was administered wolfsbane.”

Stiles’ blood turned cold. “I didn’t think he was, there weren’t the usual side-effects.”

“Don’t think you missed anything you shouldn’t have,” Argent said, “because you’re right; the usual signs were missing. Even I didn’t pick up on it.”

“How is he not …?” Stiles couldn’t say it.

“It was tampered with. Rendered useless before it was administered; hence, no poisoning.” Argent tapped Stiles’ notes which were on the table in front of him. “Seems like you worked it out yourself: someone got a hold of it and for whatever reason, saved Derek’s life.”

“Was there enough to kill him?” Stiles had to know for certain if that’s what Ramona had wanted.

“Yes. And it was a kind I don’t have access to, so a cure would have been just about impossible in the time we’d have had.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath in through his mouth then letting it out. “Okay,” he said, determined to keep going forward. “Was there anything else?”

“There’s hemlock in his blood, a known sedative, and the licorice Scott detected.” Argent sat back in his chair. “And that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Stiles had been expecting a whole slew of ingredients playing off each other. “Three things, one from Ramona, two from whoever?”

“It’s makes sense,” Argent said. “Ramona’s wolfsbane,” he held up one finger, “equals a painful death for Derek, all for the purpose of seeing what it would do to you.” He held up finger number two. “Hemlock, added by our mystery ‘friend’, puts Derek into a deep sleep, making it look like the wolfsbane is working and tricking Ramona in the process.” Argent held up a third finger. “But the licorice?” He looked down at Stiles’ notes. “That doesn’t seem as helpful and I can’t think of a reason for it.”

“No,” Stiles reluctantly agreed. “Me either.” Why add something that was used for the dead if Derek wasn’t going to die?

“The one thing we do know,” Argent concluded, “is that the poisoning was turned into an elaborate trick, one made to look like Derek was dying when in fact he wasn’t.”

“An elaborate trick,” Stiles repeated to himself, looking over his shoulder out the window. That niggle of something he was missing, something obvious, was creeping back.

“There’s one other thing we know,” Stiles’ dad added, joining them at the table. “Derek should wake on his own once the hemlock wears off. All you need do is rest, recuperate and eat more. Chris and I are handling everything else.” He pointed to the kitchen bench where the noodles sat, looking forlorn and not at all appetizing. “Eat. Then you’re going back to sleep.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance.

Argent looked amused. “I’m not needed here for this, so I’m going.” Standing up, he gathered his jacket from where he’d dropped it over the back of his chair, then paused at the front door to pick up his rifle before slinging it onto his shoulder. “I almost forgot,” he added. “I’ve got a few people out in the forest keeping an eye on the place.”

“You put hunters out there?!” Stiles squawked. “What the fuck??”

“They’re good people, Stiles. There’s no need to worry, they’ve only been told the necessities: to stop anyone who tries to come too close. They’ll stay away from the house on the property lines.” At Stiles’ dark glare, Argent had the nerve to chuckle a little. “They can be trusted.”

“As far as I can spit, I bet,” Stiles snarled.

Argent laughed freely. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He was tempted to reach out and suck away some of Argent’s energy like he’d done to the deer, only not his whole life. He could do it without Argent even knowing. Probably. Unfortunately, with his dad in the room there’d be a witness if things went a little … wrong. 

Still smiling, Argent left, and Stiles had to bite his cheek till it almost bled to stop himself from following.

“Stiles?” his dad asked. 

Stiles jerked his gaze away from the front door. “Hmm?” He gave a half-smile he didn’t feel. “I think I am still tired.” It wasn’t a lie as such, but his deep-seated exhaustion was not his priority. What he wanted was just to be by Derek’s side. The mention of wolfsbane had reminded Stiles about the time he’d almost had to chop off Derek’s arm to save his life. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. 

His dad frowned and halted Stiles from moving away. “I’ll be here when you wake up. If I go home, I’ll worry about you both. I’ll do it either way, but at least here I’m being proactive.”

“Nothing worse than a stir-crazy cop,” Stiles quipped. He made sure to yawn big, the crack of his jaw only aiding his deception. “I’m going to sleep for a bit.” 

“Not so fast, get your butt over to the kitchen and eat those damn noodles. I’ll reheat them if I have to, but you’re not getting out of having lunch. And then in a few hours after some rest, you’re going to eat dinner.”

“Oh, the horror,” Stiles grumbled, failing at lighthearted and landing on petulant.

“There’s even going to be breakfast tomorrow morning, so prepare yourself,” his dad snarked right back at him. He headed over to the kitchen bench. “Bring the files. I want to go over everything with you.”

Stiles blinked. “Why?” 

His dad had stopped talking to him about work cases ever since he’d become fae, so it was a confusing request. If the regretful creases to the corners of his dad’s eyes was any indication, he knew what Stiles was thinking. 

“You have information Chris doesn’t and you’ve got a policeman’s mind when it comes to this stuff,” his dad explained, face clearing and a more amused look taking over. “God knows that’s got to be better than a supernatural hunter’s take on things.”

Stiles choked out a surprised laugh that held little humor. “I want to check on Derek first.” 

He walked down the hallway to the bedroom, pausing before entering. Derek breathed quietly, hooked up to the IV bag, only his head and shoulders peaking out from under the blanket; just as Stiles had left him. 

Walking over to the bed, Stiles crawled up on the sheets. Derek’s coloring was better. In fact, he could be about to wake up at any moment, he looked so peaceful. 

“I miss you,” Stiles whispered into his ear, cuddling up to him. “I’ve missed you for so long. I only just got you back and now you’re not here. Wake up, Der. Come on. What are you waiting for?” His own words resounded in his head and Stiles sat up so fast the bed rocked in its frame. “Not here,” he repeated out loud.

Dropping his glamor, Stiles stared at Derek, searching the area around his body. A person’s aura was said to be seen floating just above the skin. Stiles was hoping the same could be said of the spirit or astral body, if the person looking for it was fae and had magic to help them see. 

His eyes grew hot and achy from not blinking before he saw it; a line of the palest light spiraling from Derek’s sternum. It winked out as soon as he tried to focus on it too strongly and he groaned in frustration. Following instinct, Stiles placed a hand on Derek just below where he’d seen the light emerging and stared at the tips of his fingers until they blurred. 

The cord of light came back. 

Stiles tracked it carefully with unfocused eyes, turning his head the slightest bit to watch it float over the bed. He was sure it was the spirit cord that connected people to their bodies. The question was, where was Derek’s spirit if not in his body?

The cord looked like nothing much; an insubstantial light with little color and no defined edge, but Stiles was betting it was stronger than it looked. His fingers inched up Derek’s chest, the tips brushing against where the light seemed to start. He could feel a subtle warmth nudging back against him, pressing against his fingers and the claiming bond. 

Stiles opened up the bond further and the tiny bit of warmth bloomed along his hand, up his arm and into the base of his skull, causing him to sigh as wolf-home-love-Derek flowed through him. Suddenly the astral cord changed, became a thick substance bound of light and energy, twisting out of Derek’s chest, up and over the bed and through the window, into the forest outside. 

Keeping hold of the cord, his hand submerged in its glow, Stiles jumped off the bed. Pressing his free hand up against the window frame, he looked up above the tree line and saw a huge shimmering haze of color that dropped down into the forest. 

The telluric current.

Derek’s cord twisted along at waist height as it made its way straight towards it, entering the trees before becoming lost to sight. 

Taking a step back, Stiles considered the window in its frame. It was one large sheet with a separate ladder of glass shelves that opened and closed down one side for ventilation. No way out except to break through.

Moving back until he was against the bed, as far as he could get from the window, Stiles steeled himself, recalling just how strong he could be when he wanted. He gripped Derek’s cord in his hand. Then he ran at the window as fast as he could. 

He hit it with his shoulder, free hand coming up to protect his face. The glass gave way and Stiles was surprised and pleased as he felt it shatter under the force of him battering into it. A tremendous crash accompanied him as he propelled out of the bedroom, the window showering down around him in jagged shards. He hit the forest floor hard; feet crunching through the inches of snow to the earth beneath as he stumbled to a stop.

Immediately checking that he could still see Derek’s cord, Stiles was relieved to find it had morphed around his wrist as if it was afraid to let him go just as much as he was to loose it. He took a few steps then started jogging, following where the cord led. 

“Stiles, what the HELL?!”

Stiles flinched, knowing that tone too well to be able to ignore it. He stopped and turned halfway, looking over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” 

His dad was in Derek’s bedroom, framed by the broken window, staring at the splintered glass, almost invisible where it lay on the snow beneath the window frame. The refractions on the glass shone like crystals in the sunlight.

“Derek’s out there,” Stiles tried to explain, pointing towards the telluric current swirling silently just off through the trees.

His dad closed his mouth, eyebrows lifting even higher before lowering. “Son,” he said slowly, carefully. “Derek’s in bed.”

Stiles huffed. “No, his body is. He won’t wake up like you think, not by himself. His soul is out there.” He went to walk away.

“Stiles, stop where you are right now.”

Stiles kept going. 

His dad bit back an expletive and Stiles heard him running through the house. The back door opened and his dad stumbled through the snow, catching up to Stiles and hauling him around. Stiles hissed and his dad let go like he’d been burned, holding up his hands and taking a step back. 

“Woah! Calm down!”

“You will not keep me from him!” Stiles snarled through sharp teeth. Rage had sprung up in him, ready to strike, and he welcomed it like an old friend. 

His dad eyed him carefully. “Stiles, you’re bleeding. Let me help you.” He motioned to Stiles’ leg.

Looking down, Stiles saw a cut in his pants, blood easing its way through the material and down over his foot. A blood trail crossed the snow from where he’d landed outside to where he stood now. Bending down, he pushed up his pants leg. The window glass had left a decent slice in his leg, but it didn’t hurt and the blood was already slowing. “It’ll heal,” he said offhandedly.

“When exactly?” his dad scoffed. “Before you bleed out?”

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles dismissed. The cord still felt strong in his hand and he didn’t want to delay any longer.

“You can’t just go wandering off into the forest while you’re bleeding!” 

Stiles started moving away. “Can. Will. Am,” he said, not caring anymore to stop and pander to his dad’s ridiculous concerns.

“STOP!” His dad grabbed at his shoulder, stepping in front of him. “Please. Talk to me.”

“You’re in my way.” Stiles glared. “Move.”

His dad put his hands on his hips. “I’m asking you to explain why you think Derek’s soul is in the forest.” He sighed deeply. “Stiles, this is madness. You can see that, right?”

Stiles had no time for this and grabbed his dad’s wrist. “You want to know? Then look.” He pushed with his magic, letting it flow over his dad. It sunk into his eyes and into his brain and he gasped and struggled, but Stiles held on. “See this?” He indicated to Derek’s cord, still held in his fist and leading away into the forest, the other end floating into the bedroom. 

His dad nodded, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. “Wha …?”

“It’s Derek, Dad,” Stiles told him, starting to walk again and pulling his dad along with him. “The spirit part of him, anyway.”

They slipped between the trees, further away from the house.

“I don’t understand,” his dad admitted. “How can a line of … stuff … be Derek?”

“It’s the spiritual tether to his body,” Stiles explained, walking faster. The telluric current was close now, its energy rippling over the trees as if they were underwater. “His body’s in bed, but he won’t wake up until his soul’s back there, too.”

“And what, you’re going to go get it?” His dad had stopped trying to get out of Stiles’ hold, walking alongside him, staring at the cord as it led them on. “Do you just keep following until you find him? Where’s it going?”

Stiles jerked them both to a stop. The current was only yards away, dropping down to the ground. A curtain of energy flowing right past them in a wide wall. Stiles was surprised his dad hadn’t said anything about it. “It goes in there.”

His dad squinted his eyes and looked forward. Stiles knew the moment he caught sight of the wall of energy because he gaped and blinked stupidly for a second before controlling his expression. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a telluric current.” Now that he was closer, Stiles wanted to take his time before going further. Nerves skittered up his spine. “They’re energy lines that traverse the world. In Beacon Hills they all converge on the Nemeton.”

His dad took notice of the way the energy was flowing along in one direction. “That’s where it’s going?”

Stiles nodded.

“Like a road,” his dad mused. “Shouldn’t there be lines going out, too, in the other direction? You said they all went in.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, impressed his dad had worked that out so quickly. “They should, and they do.”

“But something’s not right with the roads.” His dad had caught on, something in Stiles’ tone probably alerting him to the fact. “Because the Nemeton’s not healed?”

Stiles was once more struck by his dad’s insight. “Exactly. The energy flow isn’t balanced.”

“And that causes the bad things that happen here, the supernatural creatures of evil?”

Stiles stared at his dad.

“What?” His dad shrugged. “I listen when you decide to tell me stuff.” He waved a hand towards the telluric current. “So Derek’s in that thing … at the Nemeton?”

Stiles thought of Ramona’s man and how he’d been floating aimlessly. But he’d been dead, and Derek wasn’t. “Possibly. He’s in the current, at least.”

His dad squared his shoulders. “Let’s go, then,” he said, and took a step forward.

Stiles held him back, nerves giving way to a sharp stab of immediate fear. “No! You can’t. You’ll be torn to pieces.”

“It’s dangerous?”

Stiles snorted. “It’s not a walk in the park.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience.” His dad’s look narrowed and became suspicious. “Just how much danger are we talking about here?”

Stiles rubbed at the side of his nose. “Some.” 

His dad nodded, resigned. “Meaning death-defying levels. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you going in there, especially without me.”

“I have to, plus I don’t even know if you’d be able to go in anyway. You’re not dead or dying.”

“Neither are you.”

Stiles pointed to himself. “Fae. Supernatural nature spirit.” He wiggled his fingers for added emphasis. “With magic.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “Right, of course.” Then he said, “Derek’s not dying.”

“No,” Stiles agreed, then paused, struck with the clarity he’d been fighting for; that missing piece. “The licorice!”

“What about it?” 

“It’s to help souls to the Summerlands. But what if it was given to Derek to separate him from his body and keep him from waking up?”

They both took a moment to just look at the current as it waved along in front of them.

Stiles’ dad broke the silence. “Why would someone want to suck Derek’s soul into this …?”

“Telluric current.”

“How does that help him?”

Stiles shrugged with one shoulder. “That question’s reserved for the bonus round.”

“Hmm. Are these currents easy to find? Are they everywhere?”

Stiles looked at his dad, wondering where he was going with this.

“It’s a valid question,” his dad defended. “Sue me for not being as knowledgeable as you when it comes to this stuff.”

“They’re in specific places, key spots on the earth,” Stiles told him. “Tectonic plate lines, ocean fissures, mountain ridges, rivers, the Equator, North and South Pole; things like that.”

“And Nemetons, places of magic,” his dad concluded. 

Stiles nodded. 

“Would it be hard for someone to just stumble across one?”

“It happens. People cross them all the time without knowing. Some live directly on them without knowledge of it, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Stiles tilted his head. “What are you getting at?”

His dad looked once more at the current wavering in front of them. “The person who decided to shove Derek into this thing must have known it was here. Is that something a human would know, or is it more likely a supernatural would know of it?”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it. The odds of one of Ramona’s hunters knowing exactly where the telluric current was, knowing it was close enough to capture Derek outside his own house, and having the skills to make sure that’s what happened were pretty low. “More likely a supernatural than a human,” he conceded.

“That narrows it down a fair bit, I’d say.”

“Dad, you’re amazing.”

“I’m flattered you think so,” his dad said dryly. “I still don’t want you going in there.”

“Still going,” Stiles replied.

His dad stared at where Stiles held Derek’s cord, then let out a breath and nodded. “I know. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Stiles needed his dad to understand this was not something he was doing lightly. The telluric current scared him. He wasn’t going in there for fun. “I love him, Dad. I have to bring him back.”

“Oh, I know you love him, believe me.” His dad smiled, somewhat sadly. “I loved your mother enough to risk everything for her, too. And when you came along, it was the same. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I can’t do that.”

His dad sighed. “I know that too,” he admitted, giving Stiles a one-armed hug, being careful not to jostle Derek’s cord. “What can I do to help?”

Stiles remembered how terrified he’d been when he couldn’t get out of the current last time. “Actually, there may be something. Can you hold this?” He held out Derek’s cord.

His dad reluctantly reached out and placed his hand on it, managing to achieve a slippery but firm grasp. “Oh, that’s un-nerving. It’s like a sneeze at the back of my throat.”

At his dad’s touch on the cord, Stiles felt a rough tugging along the claiming bond in his mind. It was strange to have an outsider influencing something that was between Derek and him, even if it was indirectly. He had to remind himself it wasn’t the claim his dad was touching but Derek’s tether, and he was doing it under direction.

His dad was highly disturbed. “This isn’t going to be a thing I have to do frequently, is it? Because I have to say, Stiles, I’m not up for this magic wrangling.”

Stiles sniggered, enjoying his dad’s discomfort but so proud of him for pushing through it. “Just this once.”

“Promise?”

Stiles laughed loudly, his nerves barking out of him before he got it under control. “Okay, now you’ve got the hang of it, you’re going to hold onto mine too.”

His dad shot him a startled glance. “What? Are you joking?”

“No.” 

Slowly unclasping his hand, Stiles withdrew it from Derek’s cord, half expecting it to wink out of sight as soon as he stopped touching it. When it didn’t, his relief was tinged with giddiness. He sat down on the snow, the melt seeping into his pants. 

“I can’t just run in there, I need to astral travel,” he said to his dad’s questioning look.

His dad was still unsure. “Astral travel … okay … That’s what Derek’s doing now, right?”

Stiles nodded. He breathed slowly, trying to settle his nerves. “I’ll need you to help me get back. Help us get back.”

“There’s a lot more to this than what you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

Stiles bit his lip, pulling the skin into his mouth. “It’s difficult to get out,” he admitted, not wanting to go into detail. “I’m thinking you can pull on the cord like a lifeline. Which is exactly what the cord is, after all.”

“Stiles,” his dad’s voice took on the edge it got when Stiles had done something dangerous or stupid, “you’ve been in these currents before, haven’t you.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, more like an accusation, so Stiles didn’t answer. Instead he lay down and got comfortable, the snow lovely and cold against his back.

“Was there a chance you weren’t going to come back?” his dad asked.

Stiles closed his eyes. “There’s always a risk, just like there’s a risk driving a car. It’s all relative anyway.”

“Stiles!”

“It didn’t happen. I’m here. Now can we do this?” 

Silence answered him. 

Stiles slit one eye open to peek up at his dad. 

With a clenching of his jaw and two red spots on his cheeks, his dad asked, “How do I do it?”

“Just reach out and grab it.”

“Grab what??”

“My cord, Dad. Come on, it’s not that hard a concept!” Stiles’ nerves were jumping again.

His dad scoffed. “Not that hard, he says! As of a few minutes ago, I couldn’t even see the damn things!”

Stiles waited.

“Fine!” his dad huffed. “But we’re having a talk about your lack of self-preservation when you get back!”

Stiles’ mouth thinned. They weren’t going to have any such talk. He was done being told what he could and couldn’t do. “Just keep a hold of me, Dad. Don’t let go.”

***

Stiles rushed down the current, sweeping past trees, over forest ground, faster and faster, following Derek’s shiny bright cord winding its way ever onward towards the Tree. At any moment Stiles knew he’d find Derek floating around, relatively unharmed and ready to come home. All Stiles would have to do would be take Derek’s hand, use his dad’s physical connection to his own tether to bring them back, and they’d both wake up.

The cord petered out.

Stiles was left with nothing to follow and no Derek at the end. He floated in the current, unsure. “Derek?” he called, turning around, looking. “Derek?!”

There had to be something, Derek just couldn’t be … not there. 

“DEREK!!”

There was a tug at his navel. A reminder his dad must be getting tired of waiting. If Stiles knew how, he’d dig inside himself and cut his cord out. He couldn’t leave yet. He turned around again, hoping Derek would somehow just appear. 

The tugging on his cord grew more persistent and Stiles fought against it, edging forward with pure willpower. He reached out to one of the trees and managed to touch the bark, a brief scratch of nails before he was whipped away, whirled through the current before slamming back into his body.

“Noooo!” he cried out as he shot up into a sitting position, scaring his dad who stumbled backwards from where he crouched over him.

“God, Stiles!” His dad got over his shock quickly and held him tight. “Don’t do that ever again, it’s been hours!”

Stiles dug his fingers into his thighs to stop from shoving his dad away like he desperately wanted to. His dad was too close. Everything was too close; the wet snow on his clothes, the air frosting his lungs, even the sunlight piercing his eyes. 

Derek hadn’t been there, Derek wasn’t there …

Counting in his head backwards from ten, Stiles pulled his magic deep within himself so it no longer touched the world around him, dulling his senses until everything dampened like coals under dirt. His breathing evened out, his eyes dried up. He could no longer see the telluric current or Derek’s cord. 

“Did you get him?” his dad asked, searching his face.

There was a second of displacement between Stiles thinking the answer and it coming out of his mouth. “No.”

“Are you going to try again?”

Stiles stood up, forcing his dad to pull back from him, give him space. His leg throbbed where the glass from the window had cut it. He should have a proper look at it. Even if he healed faster than a human, his dad may have been right before and it could require stitches. The dried blood caught and tugged on his leg hairs as he walked back to the house. 

“Stiles?”

Retracing the blood trail, Stiles stopped at the glass in the snow. The large shards were very pretty in their near-invisibility, the small splinters glittering and sparkly with their sharp tiny edges. He didn’t look up through the broken window at the bedroom.

His dad was at his side.

Stiles had a sudden urge to see where he’d fallen to the ground out of the storm. He turned and made his way around the side of the house, his dad coming after him like a shadow. 

When he saw what was left of the tree he’d smashed into, Stiles paused. It looked like it had been hit by lightning. No wonder his dad had mentioned the tree exploding. Normally the sight of such a broken tree would be distressing; Stiles had done that, no matter that it had been an accident. But he was unable to connect to any guilt. 

“He died instantly,” his dad said sympathetically.

Stiles looked over at him, confused, then remembered the man. But he didn’t care about that. The tree’s death should be cause for his grief, not some hunter’s, and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. Turning away to hide his lack of empathy, not having the energy or the patience to deal with his dad figuring out just how much he didn’t care, Stiles walked closer to the tree and stopped at the line of police tape cording off the scene. 

The tape was ridiculously redundant in his opinion and he paid it no mind, slipping underneath to press a finger into the tree’s wood, running it down the blackened split where it had cracked in half. It would still be alive and in pain. If he had his tree ability he could ease its suffering. He should feel something about that. Something more than lethargy.

His dad was retying a strip of police tape that had come undone from a nearby aspen. It was obviously just for want of something to do, more than professional need, as he hadn’t voiced a single concern when Stiles had disregarded the line. 

Dropping his hand from the burnt tree, Stiles went to stand by his dad, the tape flapping between them on a small breeze as they stood together, looking over the area. From what he could see and what he’d been told, Stiles guessed he’d hit the tree when the lightning had struck, sheering off the large branch which had then killed Ramona’s man. 

The branch had been moved from where it originally fell; drag marks and footprints had flattened and dirtied the the snow around it. Some of the earth had been turned over and removed, probably in an effort to get rid of whatever had leaked out of the body. Stiles wondered if his dad had done it in an effort to spare his son the gruesome visual of the man being squished like a bug outside Derek’s front door. 

It wouldn’t have worried him.

His dad’s hand came down on his shoulder. “You need to rest.”

Stiles didn’t think so. “I’m good.” There were things he needed to do. So many things. He needed a check list.

“You’re swaying.”

“Am not.” The world was only swirling the slightest bit but that was just from stress. Stiles made an effort to stand still. “See? I’m fine. Now, there was something I was doing.” He frowned at his dad. “What was I doing?”

Something like alarm quickly flashed across his dad’s face. “You were going to have a sleep.”

“No, that wasn’t it.”

Stiles started to walk towards the front door of the house, his dad by his side. They walked up the porch steps, Stiles taking care to place his feet just right to stop himself from tripping. When he got to the top, he remembered. “I was going to fix what I did.” He reached for his dad’s face. “You don’t want to be seeing astral projections everywhere, now do you?”

Cutting off whatever his dad was going to say, Stiles shoved into his dad’s mind with the tiniest sliver of magic. Perhaps he was more forceful than necessary, but it wasn’t like he had a map or guidelines to follow. He took back the magic he’d placed there and left his dad as he’d been before; human and totally un-magical.

“God,” his dad groaned, blinking hard. “I’m all for getting Derek back but can we think of a way that doesn’t require me having my brain scrambled?” He rubbed at his forehead. “It didn’t hurt when you did it the first time.” He didn’t ask why it was painful this time round but the question floated between them anyway.

Stiles opened the door and went inside.

***


	11. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness calls.

Stiles sat on Derek’s sofa crosslegged, his eyes skimming unseeing across the text of a book he didn’t even know the name of. He looked up as his dad placed yet another sandwich down on the side table for him.

“Eat it all,” his dad ordered before looking at the fire burning quietly in the grate. His gaze travelled around Derek’s cabin. “You going to be okay by yourself? My shift starts in a half hour.”

Stiles bristled at the implication he was unable to care for Derek without help. He bit back the retort that was aching to be voiced. “Yes. I’ll be fine,” he ground out. Anything other comment would show how badly he needed his dad gone. Two days of being smothered by good intentions had him climbing the metaphorical walls. He was so full of food he was going to burst.

“You sure? I can come back afterwards, help with whatever.”

“If I need you, I’ll call.”

His dad hovered, unsure.

“Seriously, Dad, go.”

“I suppose Chris has things well in hand.”

Stiles bit back a hiss. He was unimpressed with the people staked outside Derek’s cabin. He had yet to see them and being unable to sense them through the earth had him on edge.

“Alright, I’m going.” His dad leant over to give a one-armed hug. 

Stiles wanted to sigh in relief.

As soon as his dad left, he jumped up and ran into the bedroom. Casting an eye over Derek, he stopped the connection to the IV bag and unhooked it from the stand, placing it on the bed. Melissa had reassured him Derek’s werewolf healing powers were keeping him healthy, the drip was just a nutrient supplement, so a little while off it wouldn’t matter. 

Making doubly sure Derek had on warm clothes, including socks, Stiles piled three blankets on top of the quilt already covering him. Where they were going, the extra layers would be needed.

The broken window had been boarded up by his dad and the room was deep in resulting shadow, so grabbing one of the boards, Stiles pulled. With a bit of maneuvering, the nails popped from the window frame and the board came off in his hands. He rested it up against the wall, slapping his hands together and smiling as the sun came through.

Readying his magic for the next step, Stiles dropped his glamor, then stared at himself in surprise. His skin hadn’t changed. No swirling clouds, no shadows or light playing across his arms. For a few seconds he marveled at his pale skin, turning his hands over to make sure no clouds remained. The fae puberty must be coming to an end. Maybe he’d get his tree and earth magic back soon. 

Hope blossomed and Stiles turned to the bed, wishing he could show his progress to Derek. His mouth twisted and the hope dimmed as he took in Derek’s silent and still form. Stretching out his hand, Stiles caught up the light coming through the broken window. The sunlight intensified as he put his will into his magic, imagining what he needed to happen. 

Everything brightened; the light swelling into the room, falling over Derek and surrounding him in a cocoon of shimmering gold. Stiles bound it tightly over him, threading magic through the light beams and focusing intent. 

Shouldering the backpack holding the spare IV bags, he put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Come on, my wolf, let’s go.” He pulled them through the sunlight.

They arrived in the clearing seconds later, right next to the cellar door. Stiles wasted no time in opening it and bringing the light into the dark where the Nemeton roots grew. The sun lit up the corners of the cellar and warmed the hard-packed floor. 

Stiles repositioned a blanket which had slipped, then sunlight-leaped them both down into the cellar. Derek arrived right where Stiles wanted him; on the blow-up mattress he’d managed to sneak to the Tree the night before while his dad was sleeping on the couch. He tucked the quilt and blankets tightly around Derek and hooked up the IV bag on one of the rafters. Following Melissa’s teaching, he connected the bag to Derek’s needle and checked the flow rate. 

Next, he took a look at the protections in place along the grove perimeter. No one had tried to breach the area since Brine, but Stiles wasn’t taking anything for granted. The illusions held and nothing seemed out of place. 

Everything having gone without a hitch, Stiles sank onto the dirt, feeling relieved. Breathing in time to the Nemeton’s magic pulsing in and out, he began to relax. Being connected to the Tree was reassuring in a way he’d never tried to explain to anyone. It was the comforting embrace of a loved one, the humbleness of being touched by something bigger than himself. 

The Tree hummed through Stiles’ blood and the sunlight streamed through the hole above, warming up the blow-up mattress and highlighting Derek as he continued to sleep peacefully. For a long moment Stiles sat stoking the roots of the Tree, running his hand over the bumps and curves, the Tree singing under his touch and bringing a smile to his face. Eventually he stirred, not really wanting to leave but still having something he needed to do.

“I’ll bring you back something nice,” he promised the Tree. 

Kissing Derek before he left, Stiles walked up the steps, leaving the door open so the sunlight could shine down and continue to warm the cellar. He set illusions over the hole, making it look like snow-covered ground. Then he re-checked the message Cue had sent him on Derek’s phone, telling him where Ramona was staying. 

“Reddick Mound,” he read aloud. “Got you, you bitch.” 

***

Stiles found Ramona’s house after a little bit of grunt work. He arrived at the bottom of the Mound, home to some of the town’s more affluent civilians, and spent a few minutes walking up the winding road, checking out each mini mansion as he came to it. Some were hard to see, hiding behind large brick walls with big old trees blocking the view through iron gates which Stiles didn’t go near. Others were more open and allowed him a good gawk. As he was invisible, no one was going to catch him scoping out the neighborhood. 

He lucked out on the third bend of the road, recognizing Ramona’s house from Argent’s video feed. As precocious as it had seemed in black and white, the gleaming walls and winding circular driveway screamed money in real life. Stiles wondered how a substitute history teacher payed for such extravagance, rented or not. Maybe it was just one of the perks of being part of a hunting family, though Stiles had never seen other hunters splash their wealth around quite so flamboyantly. There didn’t seem to be any walls to keep people out, no fences either. Just large bushes running around the house and gardens, with nothing baring the entrance to the driveway. Stiles could walk right up to the front door. What was Argent so worried about? This would be easy. 

Stiles was about to cross the road when a SUV pulled up in front of him, cutting him off from the house. 

“Stiles, that better not be you!” Argent hissed out the window. He had his phone up to his ear like he’d pulled over to take a call. “Get in the car before someone from the house decides to take more than a passing interest in why I’m parked here!”

Stiles stood still. There was no way Argent could possibly see him.

Argent looked at his phone and shook his head. “You’re coming up on the infrared, Stiles.”

Edging forward, Stiles peered at Argent’s phone. There was a camera angle he hadn’t seen before, pointed to catch the road and driveway outside Ramona’s. There was Argent in his car, a bright red and yellow through the infrared sights, and there was Stiles, showing more green and yellow than red, but definitely there.

“That’s new,” Stiles observed.

Argent didn’t even blink when Stiles spoke, though it must have been strange to hear him so close but not be able to see him except through video feed. He put his phone to his ear once more, nodding. “Got a new set up. A contact finally came through for me. Now get in! I don’t want to have to explain my way out of the Sheriff shooting me because you got yourself into trouble on my watch.”

Stiles wanted to argue but being seen on camera was daunting and potentially dangerous, so he opened the back passenger door of the SUV and slid onto the seat. 

Argent watched the door close in the rearview mirror then drove off, not saying a word until they’d left the Mound and were making their way in the opposite direction to the preserve, Argent checking his mirrors every few seconds. “You can drop the invisibility now. No one’s following us.”

Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to. Argent had a vein throbbing on the side of his neck matching the ones on his hands where he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The whole situation made Stiles feel like a child about to be told off by a friend’s parent. But he sighed and dropped the illusion, his face appearing in the rearview mirror where he caught Argent’s eyes.

“Good. Now, explain yourself,” Argent demanded.

“Why should I?”

Argent was incredulous. “Why should …?! Do you realize what you almost did?”

“What I had to.”

Argent blew out a charged breath. “There are several members of the Meahn family in that house at any one time. Apart from getting captured, which you most assuredly would have been, was your plan to somehow kidnap Ramona from under the very watchful and trained eye of everyone in there?”

“Maybe.” Stiles wasn’t going to tell him that was essentially it. It sounded dumb when he heard it out loud.

“If you’d gotten out against all odds, how would your dad have explained it when you rocked up at the station with her? He’d have ended up having to arrest you instead. You’re lucky I was there to bail you out of making such a pointless mistake.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment. Argent assumed he’d been going to give Ramona to his dad. “It would have worked,” he said, obliquely. 

Slamming on the breaks, Argent swerved his car over to the edge of the road. Stiles grabbed the passenger assist handle and held on. When the car stopped, Argent turned on him. 

“Out of everyone in your merry little band of misfits, I never thought you were the one who forgoed using their brain. I stand corrected!”

“At least I’m doing something!” Stiles shot back. “What the hell are you doing other than waiting? Why don’t you just leave town if you’re not going to help?”

Argent ground his teeth together. “I’m amassing evidence, you ungrateful child. And intelligence. You’ll thank me later.” He turned back around and started the car. “I’m taking you home. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to leave Derek alone.”

Stiles curled his lip, not about to explain his actions. “How can it be stupid when you have your so-called top notch hunters keeping us safe? Don’t you trust your own people?” he taunted instead.

“I trust them more than I trust you right at this moment.” Argent seemed genuinely disappointed.

They stopped at a red light and sat in uncomfortable silence. Stiles was going to say something cutting but it was far more amusing to imagine the look on Argent’s face when he realized there was no one in the back of his car anymore.

Stiles sunlight-leaped away and arrived back at the Nemeton. 

Jumping down the cellar stairs, he carefully crawled onto the blow-up mattress. It took a few moments to relax and get rid of the annoyance Argent was always so good at producing. It was also infuriating Stiles couldn’t get to Ramona as easily as he’d thought. Now if she went missing, Argent was bound to suspect him. For the time being, he’d have to leave her alone and the realization of that burned.

Stiles glanced at Derek. He looked like a beautiful prince in a folk tale, waiting for a kiss to wake him up. 

“I’ve been thinking about what happened in the telluric current, Der,” Stiles mused aloud. “I don’t know how long an astral form can last in there, so you’ve got to keep fighting on your end, okay?” Leaning over, he pressed his nose into Derek’s stubble which was beginning to get a bit scruffy, quite unlike his own face which remained hair-free without shaving. “Come on, Der, wake the fuck up. I’m running out of ideas and I don’t want to have to go see Deaton again. He’s so infuriating. Plus, if he’s been talking to Argent, he’s worked out a loop hole in our pact, so there’s no telling what the two of them are planning, only that I won’t like it because I never like what Deaton does. So please, I’m begging here, wake up. Wake up, right now.”

Derek’s eyes stayed closed. There was no sign he heard. Just like every other time Stiles spoke to him.

Stiles sighed into Derek’s neck. “Okay, fine. Be stubborn. Make me go speak to the druid. Urghh! You suck.” He went to roll off the mattress, then turned back and kissed Derek’s cheek. “Love you.”

***

At the clinic, Stiles watched Scott help a woman get her dog into the back of her truck. The dog was huge and had a busted back leg, so Scott had to lift the dog into the compartment and settle it in its car harness. The woman was talking to him and looked stressed, and Stiles got the impression it wasn’t going to be a quick conversation.

With Scott thankfully otherwise engaged, Stiles ran around to the back of the clinic. He slowly and quietly pushed up the roller door, finding it unlocked as he’d hoped. Scott had always forgotten to lock it and it seemed he hadn’t gotten any better in remembering to do so. Stiles rolled the door back down, then crept through the storage area into the back hallway. 

Deaton was speaking to a cat owner, explaining how the animal would be ready for pick up the next day. Stiles peered round the corner and watched the owner shake Deaton’s hand and walk away.

About to go back into the examination room, Deaton paused, his back to Stiles. “That was my last client for a while but Scott will be back in a moment. Would you prefer a later time, or shall we discuss whatever you’ve come for while I have a spare moment?”

It took Stiles a few seconds to realize Deaton was addressing him. He stepped out from behind the corner. “Now would be best.”

Deaton looked him over. “You didn’t break the wards this time.”

“You asked me not to.”

“I’ll confess, I didn’t expect you to listen.”

Stiles’ lips twitched in suppressed amusement because he almost hadn’t, the wards were just too tempting, but he’d abstained for a reason. “Nothing comes for free,” he warned.

Deaton inclined his head. “Sadly, in the world we live in, that is very true. Shall we?” He moved into the examination room.

“How do I find Derek’s soul?” Stiles asked as he followed. “It’s not in his body. I followed his tether into the telluric current that runs through his property but he’s not there.”

“You’ve been in the currents?” Deaton was genuinely surprised. “That’s a very serious act of magic.”

Stiles brushed the comment aside. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“He’s not in his body?” Deaton thought for a moment. “It must have been the licorice that pulled him out, which explains why it was used. Curious.”

Stiles was impatient, the licorice was old news. “So, finding him, how?”

Deaton frowned the slightest bit. “You used the bond between you to follow his tether?”

“Yes.”

“Where did it go?”

“Towards the Nemeton grove, then it stopped.” Stiles didn’t want to think about it, the whole thing making him feel all sorts of lost. 

“Does it end like it’s been cut or does it fade out?”

“Fades.”

“I see. I think —”

“Stiles?!” Scott came jogging into the room. “I thought I heard you.”

Stiles turned on Scott, annoyed with the interruption. “Shut it, Scott. The adults are talking.”

Scott’s face hardened. “Nice. Still going for jerk of the year, I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles turned to Deaton, effectively cutting Scott out of the conversation. “You think what?”

Deaton looked back and forth between them. “I think Derek is being blocked from returning. It seems the person we assumed was helping may not be as charitable towards us as we first thought.”

Stiles nodded, that made sense. But something was off, and it wasn’t their charitable friend that had him second guessing. He let his fox ability reach out very carefully as he asked, “Okay, but how do I break through this blockage and bring Derek back?”

Deaton paused for the slightest of moments before he opened a drawer and handed Stiles the same jar he’d seen the last time he’d been in the clinic. Its blue color shone through the glass, taunting him. 

“Yarrow can be of great help to a shapeshifter in need of healing. It’s rare for Werewolves to use it, but I have accounts detailing the benefits. Perhaps with its help, Derek can break through, become strong enough to reach you.” 

Deaton’s words rang hollow. They were truthful to a point but the sharp tang of deceit in the air made Stiles doubt what he was being told. “How do I use it?” he queried.

“Make him drink it,” Deaton explained. “Then you’ll need to dip into your bond, find him, and pull him back out. Much like what you tried to do when you followed his tether, only this time you have to go deep into the bond. As deep as you can.”

Stiles looked at the bottle in his hand. Such a lethal little thing, so pretty yet so deadly. Turning to the row of windows, his back to Scott and Deaton, he held the bottle up to the sunlight as if admiring the blue liquid as it rolled around. Using his fae sight he took in the druid magic that swirled around inside the bottle before blinking the sight away and turning back to the others. 

“Yarrow hurts fae, right? Shouldn’t I leave it alone, use something else?”

Deaton made a rueful face. “Unfortunately, it’s all I have that might work. But you needn’t worry. Derek is the one who’s imbibing it. As long as you don’t drink it yourself, it won’t hurt you.”

That was a big enough lie that Stiles had to swallow to rid himself of the taste. He clenched his fist around the bottle. “Trying to poison me, druid?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Deaton answered. The shock on his face was perfect, Stiles had to hand it to him.

“I can tell when you’re lying. Did you forget I can take your emotions?” 

Stiles let the bottle go. It cracked on the floor, the distilled yarrow seeping out like a slug. Dropping his glamor, Stiles launched himself across the examination table with a loud angry hissing. He cleared the table in a wonderful show of fae dexterity and landed on Deaton’s chest, bringing them both to the ground with a thud, Deaton crying out in pain. 

Scott yelled and ran around the table towards them. 

Stiles thought fast and pushed with his magic, not at all sure if what he wanted would occur, but praying it did. A wall of shimmering heat came up between them, separating Scott from where Stiles held Deaton down. It had no color of its own, being hot air, and was only visible as rippling distortions. Scott skidded to a halt, raising an arm to ward off the pulses of heat. Stiles watched, impressed when the heat-wall held; Scott was only able to hit it twice before he had to back off. He yelled at Stiles to stop, which only made Stiles roll his eyes.

Scott taken care of, Stiles turned his attention to the man beneath him. “You lied. You know what’s happening with Derek, don’t you?” He put his hands around Deaton’s throat and squeezed.

Deaton coughed, his eyes wide. “I swear, I don’t know!”

Stiles sneered, his hands clenching harder. 

“No, Stiles!” Deaton pleaded, trying to push Stiles off. 

Stiles dropped his body weight down, knees digging into Deaton’s rib cage, effectively rendering him incapable of moving. The fear underneath Deaton’s resolve to fight back was ugly and growing rapidly and tasted like a spiced fruity desert. 

“Beg me some more,” Stiles offered, as if that would help.

Deaton wheezed out, “I … wasn’t … trying .. to … mislead … you.” 

Stiles tilted his head, half smiling as he quirked an eyebrow. “Your fear tastes like raspberries.” 

Deaton blinked up at him. He was turning red.

“Were you trying to kill me?”

“No!” 

True.

“Kill Derek?” Stiles leant a bit on Deaton’s neck.

“… No!” 

True. 

There was a paleness creeping into Deaton’s skin under the red. His eyes were glassing over. 

“Stiles! Enough, please!” Scott yelled out. “Don’t kill him.” He sounded desperate as he knelt down to Stiles’ eye level behind the heat-wall. “Please, bro.”

“Derek’s going to die, Scott,” Stiles informed him. “If I don’t bring him back, he’s gone. The telluric current will work at him until nothing’s left.”

“We’ll find a way to wake him up.” Scott’s gaze went to Deaton, who’s eyelids were fluttering. “But this won’t help. You won’t save Derek like this.”

Stiles agreed. “Oh, I know. Deaton can’t help him.” It was painful to admit out loud.

“Then stop! There’s no need for this!”

Incredulous, Stiles looked at Scott through the waving heat. “This is nothing but what he deserves. Do you understand what he was trying to do with the yarrow, Scott? Giving it to Derek, then going into the bond as deep as I’d have to go, I may as well drink it myself! Deaton was trying to weaken me. It could even kill me, though he doesn’t think so. But what does he know? He could be wrong, he’s been wrong before. But even if it didn’t, I’d be too weak to save Derek. You think I’m going to let Deaton walk away from that?”

Deaton had rallied slightly and shook his head the tiniest bit, making an aborted noise of defense.

Stiles glared down at him. “Didn’t think I’d work it out, did you? Maybe you shouldn’t assume you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“Stiles,” Scott implored.

“What?”

“This isn’t you.”

Stiles started to laugh. The void that had woken up inside him was proof just how wrong Scott was. The hunger for more, more souls, more life, was coiled up like a spring-loaded trap of teeth; waiting to reach out, wanting to take.

“Oh, Scotty-boy, if only you knew.” Stiles tilted his head, considering. “But perhaps you do. You were the first to tell me what I was capable of. I’m curious, could you always see the darkness or was it only after the possession?”

“Stiles, no.” Scott shook his head, distressed.

Stiles smirked. “Wrong answer, Scott, but thanks for playing.” He made a show of tightening his grip around Deaton’s neck.

“Wait!” Scott called out. “Fine, you’re right. There is darkness in you. Is that what you want me to say? Yes, I see it. Yes, it scares me. You’re scaring me right now. But you’re more than whatever the Nogitsune left in you! You’re more than … ,” he waved a hand in Stiles’ direction, “… this!”

“What would you do, Scott?” Stiles asked, taking a different track, wanting to see if Scott was capable of understanding him. “If your love was dying?”

Scott looked him right in the eye. “It’s not what I would do, Stiles, it’s what did I do?”

Stiles blinked, not having seen such an obvious turn in the conversation and feeling stupid for it.

“Tell me, Stiles. What did I do?” Scott coaxed.

“You fought,” Stiles grudgingly admitted, uncomfortable with where this was going.

“Yeah, I did. I fought. I fought the bad guy. With you.” Scott shuffled forward a little bit more, braving the heat-wall and wincing at its proximity. “But, Stiles, Deaton is not the bad guy, Ramona is. And I’ll fight her with you. But you need to let Deaton go.”

For a moment, Scott held Stiles’ eyes. 

Something in them had Stiles letting up on the pressure around Deaton’s neck. He moved his legs, slipping of Deaton, who struggled up and away as far as he could, hand held to his throat. 

Scott breathed out an audible sigh of relief and dropped his head, while Stiles raised his own eyes to the ceiling, trying to figure things out.

“Why?” he asked Deaton once more. “Why turn on me? What did you hope to achieve? Why risk Derek like that?”

“Control. You,” Deaton wheezed out.

“You wanted to control me?”

Deaton shook his head, then went pale like he was about to pass out.

“It’s you, Stiles,” Scott translated quickly. “You’re out of control.”

Giving the tiniest nod of his head, Deaton confirmed Scott’s guess. 

“Bullshit,” Stiles snarled at them both. “This is about power, isn’t it? I have it and you want it. Plain and simple. You’re just like everyone else. You disgust me.” 

With a hand out in supplication, Deaton whispered, “Chrissss …”

“Argent called you,” Stiles guessed, eyeing Deaton with contempt.

“Ram … houssss …”

“He told you about Ramona’s. Now why would he have done that? Could it be because you’re his contact in regards to all things fae?” 

The look of surprise Deaton sent Stiles caused him to scoff. Scooting over the floor, he crouched up on the balls of his feet, swaying into Deaton’s personal space like a snake getting ready to strike. Deaton’s reactive flinch was humorous; the banging of his head on the cabinet behind him creating a metal ding that echoed in the room. 

“Do you fear me, druid?”

Still defiant, though it was somewhat ruined by the hand holding his throat in pain, Deaton glared back. It was admirable in a way.

Stiles smiled, soft and friendly. “I doubt there’s a lot you fear but if you’re going to be scared of something, it should be me.” He bent closer. “Yes or no, do you know how to bring Derek back?”

Deaton shook his head.

Stiles sighed. There had to be someone who could help him. Whom did he know, apart from Deaton, who understood the currents? Suddenly, the answer was staring him in the face: his fae creator. Why had it taken him so long to think of the most obvious choice?

“It’s your lucky day, druid. I’m racing against the clock and I’ve just realized there’s somewhere I need to be.” Stiles patted Deaton’s cheek none too gently. “You get a reprieve. Use it well.” 

Waving a hand theatrically behind himself to drop the heat-wall, Stiles sunlight-leaped away before Scott could grab him. 

Arriving back at the clearing, he did a quick check through the claim to make sure Derek was still sleeping peacefully in the cellar. Reassured, he turned in a circle in the snow and called out to the sky, “I need your help, please!”

***

Sitting next to Derek, Stiles quietly tapped his fingers on his knees in a slow rhythm. The Nemeton was stroking through his mind at a steady pace not unlike dripping molasses, making his head fall forward and his eyes slip shut. Pulling back with a jolt and blinking furiously, he looked around the cellar once more for the fae who wasn’t there.

Too tired to think, Stiles gave up waiting. He lay down, pulling one of the blankets up over his shoulders and settling into Derek’s side. Taking a deep breath in, the scent of wolf and forest and home surrounded him. 

***

There was ringing. It stopped and started, then stopped and started, sounding muffled and unimportant.

Stiles yawned and turned over, only to frown in annoyance at a vibration near his thigh. Derek’s phone. Remembering that answering phones was a thing, Stiles hunted for it among the blankets with a sleepy hand. It stopped when he found it and didn’t ring again.

Unfortunately by now, Stiles was annoyingly awake. He sat up and stared blankly at the phone screen. It seemed he’d missed more than forty calls and numerous texts. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the time. He wasn’t the best at remembering dates anymore but if he’d worked it out correctly, he’d slept for a whole day and then some.

A quick check showed Derek needed a replacement IV bag but apart from that, nothing had changed for him. 

Stiles yawned and got off the mattress, changing the IVs before sitting back down next to Derek. “Breakfast is served, Der,” he announced. “Or lunch, or whatever.”

The phone vibrated near his knee and he picked it up reluctantly, looking at the call log. His dad. Scott. Even Argent. The majority of the calls being from his dad.

Awesome.

Stiles had known when he took Derek there’d be trouble, as no one would understand. But Derek was safe, as safe as he could possibly be, safer than in the cabin where Ramona could come back at any time and where Argent’s people hemmed them in. Stiles bet everyone had been stewing over things and commiserating with each other over how he was fucking up yet again. Well, screw that. Screw them. He’d done what was best. Derek was his to protect. 

Stiles wiped a hand down his face and texted his dad.

\- Am okay. D is with me. Stop worrying.

The phone started ringing seconds after he sent it. He sighed, knowing what was to come, and kept the phone away from his ear as he answered.

“STILES?!”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Calm down, Dad, or I’m resorting to texts.”

“Calm down?!” his dad exclaimed, not yelling anymore but still highly agitated. “Don’t tell me to calm down! Where are you??”

“We’re safe.” Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“What the hell are you thinking? Are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking very clearly, thank you.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Well as we hardly agree anymore, I don’t see where that’s cause for concern.”

“Cause for concern?! Stiles, you and Derek went missing! It’s been close to twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, but if you believe the myth, you couldn’t officially make a report until then anyway. You should be happy I texted and saved you the hassle.”

“Don’t you dare be a smart ass right now, Stiles! You can’t honestly think what you did was okay. I don’t even know what happened!”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.” Stiles picked lint off one of the blankets. “I decided I’m done with people trying to control my life. So I took my life back.”

“By absconding with Derek and going who-knows-where, without telling anyone??”

“Yep,” Stiles agreed. “See? You do know what happened.”

His dad groaned in frustration. “But I don’t understand why, Stiles. Why?”

“Derek wasn’t safe, Dad. Not with everyone knowing where he was. It’s up to me to protect him and I can’t do that if you’re making decisions that are mine to make, and not if Argent has his people keeping me prisoner.”

“That’s not what they’re doing!”

“You think so?” Stiles knew better.

“Stiles, you’re worrying me.”

Stiles breathed in deeply, letting the Tree centre him. “I’m in a safe place. The safest place, Dad. Derek’s with me. And no one can get to us.”

“You’re not going to tell me where you are?”

“Nope, and I’m going to disable Derek’s phone so you can’t track it.” Stiles smirked when he heard his dad’s muffled curse. “Nice try, though. Very cop-like, very procedural. You do your job well.”

“Not well enough it seems or I’d have traced it before now. Stiles, come home.”

“No can do, daddio. I’m doing things my way from now on.”

His dad paused. “By putting Derek’s health at risk?”

A flash of anger hit Stiles hard. “Don’t say that. I’m doing this for him.”

“What are you doing, son? Chris told me about your visit to Ramona’s house. What were you planning on doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles answered flippantly, “a little kidnapping, a little torture; all the good things.”

“Stiles.” His dad sounded wrecked.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Please, don’t do this.” His dad paused, breathing heavily down the line. “I’m worried about you. I don’t think …”

“What?”

“I don’t think you’re well. Please come home. We’ll get you help.”

Stiles laughed bitterly. “I’m not crazy. But go on, keep telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. I haven’t heard it enough.” 

He hung up.

***

The moon shone down on a world that sparkled with newly fallen snow. It was only a dusting, starting soon after Stiles had argued with his dad, but it meant he’d had to close the cellar door to stop the snow landing on Derek. He’d gone out into it though; drawn into the swirling dance of white to walk around the clearing and touch the trees, trying in vain to hear them. 

It made him ache inside; the invisible loss he carried around so heavy it felt like a physical weight on his chest dragging him down. Stiles needed his trees. He needed their stories, their history, past and present, wound into fibers that could stand for centuries. He missed their voices, their whispers. He wanted the comfort of their embrace. 

And of Derek’s embrace. He missed feeling Derek’s arms around him.

Stiles wiped at his eyes. 

Hard unforgiving arms wrapped around him from behind, making him jump. The fae’s laugh rang out around him. “Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” it purred into his ear. “Well met.”

“Well met,” Stiles replied, hands coming up to hold the fae’s forearms, hoping to keep it there long enough to get some answers. “You didn’t come.”

“We are here.”

“I needed you a day ago.”

The fae shifted behind him and Stiles looked over his shoulder at it, its eyebrows sardonic dark slashes against snow-white frosted skin. “Has your need lessoned? Do you wish for us to leave?” It moved as if to go.

“No!” Stiles gripped tighter.

A satisfied smile settled on the fae’s face. “Then we will stay.” It put its sharp chin on Stiles’ shoulder and directed him to look up. “The time will soon be upon us.” 

Stiles noted the glow of a nearly half moon, but couldn’t place its importance. “Am I missing something?”

The fae cocked its head. “The Summation,” it said, as if the words should hold some meaning for Stiles. It took a step backwards, hands dragging along Stiles’ hips before dropping away. “We told of its coming.”

“You did?” Stiles rubbed at his forehead. “I’ve been forgetting things lately,” he admitted. 

Both resigned and smug, the fae said, “It is to be expected.”

Stiles frowned. “Why? God, it’s not to do with the puberty stuff, is it?”

Watching him with an inscrutable expression, the fae didn’t answer.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “That’s all I need, my memory to diminish on top of everything else I have to worry about. I thought it was just because I was tired!”

“Balance will return in time,” the fae promised, blinking its wide slanted eyes slowly before fastening its gaze on the moon once more. 

The way it stared so fixedly made the hairs on Stiles’ arms stand up. “What exactly is the Summation?” he asked. “Did you already tell me?”

There were tiny half moons reflected in the fae’s eyes when it tilted its head to look at him. “No, we have not.” It chuckled quietly, a short burst of air that could be confused with a cold breeze. “We have a gift for you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, our own heart, our hope.” 

“I’m good,” Stiles declined quickly. “I don’t need anything.” 

“That was not the impression we got.” 

“Well, okay, yeah, I need information. But ‘gift’ gifts aren’t necessary. Really.” 

The fae laughed, the cold breeze becoming a swift wind off the edge of a cliff. It was having entirely too much fun, playing with Stiles and making him trip up on himself. “You will enjoy this,” it promised.

Stiles had enjoyed the deer too, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable killing more of them. Ramona on the other hand …

The fae laughed once more as if it could sense the direction of his thoughts. It raised its arms to the sky and spun around gracefully, no footsteps appearing to mark its passage across the newly-fallen snow. 

As the fae’s infectious laugh rose up into the night sky, swirling into the spaces between the stars, Stiles found himself smiling. His laugh joined with the fae’s as an easy calm filled him, lightening his mood and evaporating his worries. Even his bones seemed weightless and he half expected to lift off into the air. The fae’s hands were held out to him and he clasped their strong long lines, welcoming the sense of belonging that flowed over him with the touch.

They turned around in a spiral dance, Stiles’ feet quickly learning the steps, the snow kicking up in flurries as they began to whirl so fast the stars became circular lines above them showing their rotation in regards to the earth. Centered in the middle of the sky, when Stiles tipped his head back to gaze in wonder, was the moon.

The fae spoke as clearly as if it were confiding directly into his ear. “Open up and feel it, our changeling fae! The Summation is ours, our choice, our want. But the moon, the moon is all her own!”

Having never really bothered with the moon before Scott was bitten, it was only afterwards that Stiles had taken more notice. But the moon’s pull had never personally touched him. Until now.

It was under his skin, in his blood, inching along his muscles and tapping at his magic. The half moon became huge to his eyes; a loadstone bearing down on his soul and pulling him up, up, into the sky. Stretching him and filling him full of magic, full of moonlight. He could soar with the stars and moon forever, so entwined were they with his very being.

The dance ended suddenly and Stiles was back on the ground, sucking cold night air into his lungs, his body heavy and awkward and not entirely his own. When compared to the moon’s shine, the grove was seemingly very dark and Stiles had to blink away the after-image floating in front of his eyes. Part of him was still floating up above everything, reaching towards the moonlight.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, you requested assistance and we have done so. Come and see.”

Rubbing his eyes, Stiles followed the fae through the trees, sliding down the slope that marked the edge of the grove on the north-east side. The night was quiet around them except for the far-off hooting of an owl and the soft crunch of Stiles’ heels in the snow.

They walked through a strand of redwoods, the huge base of their trunks and their eclipsing height making Stiles feel small in the awed way he always felt around such giants. He placed his hand on one particular redwood’s bark. He loved the trees hereabouts and had slept in them more than once when living in the preserve.

The fae gave a smile full of teeth then pointed a hand upwards. Stiles peered into the darkness, fae sight piercing the gloom and distance. There were objects in the redwood’s upper branches, hidden by the leaves and the snow clinging to them. 

Starting to climb, the fae moved without hesitation up the long lines of the redwood’s dark trunk, Stiles admiring its ability to make such a move seem so natural and fluid. With a little more effort he followed, not wanting to be left behind. The objects in the branches became more recognizable as he got closer and Stiles paused in shock. With a bit more climbing he was in a good position to sit and observe the ‘gift’ the fae had given him.

Two people hung suspended in climbing belts from the branches of the tree. They were both unconscious, or sleeping, Stiles couldn’t tell which, their mouths bound shut and their hands tied together. If they’d been awake when the fae hung them up it must have been a terrifying experience.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“Look closer, you will see,” the fae answered.

“Joy,” Stiles mumbled. “A riddle.” He looked at the faces of the man and woman. Both were in their sixties, he’d guess, though the man may have been older. He shook his head. “I really don’t have time for this —” 

The fae hissed at him and pointed at Stiles’ eyes. “Don’t look here. Look here.” It leaned over and slapped him in the chest, over his heart. “And here.” Fingers hit him in the forehead. “Remember.”

“Um, in case you forgot, I’m not doing too well with that right now,” Stiles argued. “Seriously, I have no idea —”

The tree, the people, the fae, Stiles himself, everything whirled away as he was pulled him into a memory he’d only seen once but which had left emotional scars and an anger that would never fade. He was back in the clearing, the Nemeton standing tall and proud in the night, druids flocking around it, raising their lamps and their magic. 

Stiles looked at the faces of those responsible for all the shit he’d been through. He found the woman quickly enough. She was younger in the memory and awake and unbound, but Stiles knew it was her. 

The memory whirled him around and he was on the other side of the Tree, staring at the man. A lamp cast shadows onto a younger face, making the man’s nose look hooked and bird-like in appearance. It matched the hard determination Stiles saw in his eyes. 

The memory swerved and Stiles was spat out onto his branch up in the redwood.

“Woah,” he said, swaying slightly. “They’re druids. The druids.” There was a burst of hatred within him as he glared at the suspended couple. “Drop them,” he ordered.

The fae laughed in delight. “We knew you would see.” It didn’t move to loosen their bindings. “The Summation will claim them.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “If I knew what that was, this would make a hell of a lot more sense. Just saying.” 

“By the time the moon is full, you will understand.” The fae reached out and stroked down Stiles’ cheek. Its touch was a mid-winter frost, the burn of ice on skin. 

Stiles leant into it. “I need to talk to you about Derek.”

The fae’s expression changed, became harder. “Your wolf.” Its hand dropped away.

Stiles nodded. “Yes. I need your help.”

“We are helping.” The fae prodded the hanging woman with a sharp finger, sending her into a slow spin. 

“Yeah,” Stiles wavered, not wanting to appear rude. “And I’m grateful for your help. But Derek’s been poisoned and his spirit is drifting in a telluric current. I thought, considering you can walk in and out of them with no problems, you could help me get him out.”

“We know of your plight.” The fae dug into the woman’s side, the spin becoming a swaying that made her harness creak. “We see you.”

Stiles was floored. “You know? But, why wouldn’t you …” He couldn’t understand. “You’re my fae creator, Derek’s my pair bonded. My claimed. He’s everything to me. Why —”

“The Tree is your first priority,” the fae stated, as if Stiles’ confusion was nothing. “Your wolf’s plight is his own.”

Its clear dismissal hurt, and Stiles flinched. “My wolf’s plight is my own, Derek is my life.”

“The Tree is your life, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We thought you understood. It brought you back. You are one.”

Stiles wanted to shake the fae. “I get it, I do. I’m connected to the Tree. So much so that sometimes all I want to do is ignore everything else.”

“As it should be,” the fae approved.

“But that’s not the only purpose in my life.” Stiles had to make it see. If he didn’t get the fae’s help he had no idea what he’d do. Maybe he needed to switch tactics. “Derek’s the one who helps me. I need his support. I can’t heal the Tree without him.”

“He helps you to help the Tree?” the fae asked doubtfully.

Stiles nodded. “I need Derek. I love him.” When the fae seemed to loose interest, he added quickly, “Do you understand that without Derek, there’s no healing of the Tree? There is no protector, there is no me.”

The fae scowled. “We understand. We understand more than you think. We understand love. We know its barbs and its hooks. We don’t want that for the protector. We don’t want that for you.”

“Then you should have chosen someone else.”

The fae stared at him. “There was only ever you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. There will only ever be you.” It held out its hand over the expanse of air that separated them, fingers curled up in entreaty.

Stiles shivered but reached out, and their fingers came together. He felt their connection, the tug that pulled him towards the fae every time they met. With it watching his life as it did, surely it must understand how he felt about Derek.

The fae blinked its wide slanted eyes. And disappeared. 

Almost falling out of the redwood, Stiles leant forward in desperation. “Wait! Come back!” He whipped his head about frantically, peering up into the branches above and down to the forest floor below, but the fae didn’t reappear. 

Stiles was alone in the tree with only the unconscious druids as witness to his shocked despair. “Come back,” he pleaded. “Please. I don’t know what to do.”

***

Stiles sat on the mattress with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Derek,” he whispered into the quiet.

Derek continued to sleep, the IV dripping steadily into his arm, the blankets piled up high to keep him warm as the two of them hid away from the world. 

“There’s nothing else to try, nothing I can think of.” Stiles rubbed at his temples, eyes sweeping around the cellar, over the roots of the Tree. 

The morning sunlight was slowly warming up the staircase, shadows lightening ever so slightly. Stiles waved a hand and the cellar brightened, the sunlight sparking off the nails holding the support beams in place. A glint of unexpected light made him squint and focus on where it was coming from. His gaze landed on the compound crossbow that had belonged to Gavin Brine. 

Leaving the blow-up mattress, Stiles walked over and picked the bow up, being careful not to touch the iron tipped arrows attached to it. The bow had been lying in the cellar, forgotten, since Brine had been sucked into the Tree. Stiles gripped it tight. Fucking hunters. Always causing problems. Enough was enough.

“New plan,” Stiles decided out loud. 

Turning and jumping up the cellar steps while casting an invisibility illusion, Stiles sunlight-leapt to just inside Ramona’s property. Flittering up the circular driveway, he then knocked on the door.

Cue’s older cousin, Stefanie, answered the door, her eyes scanning the driveway and surrounding front yard. Stiles smiled grimly as her gaze swept right over him. Fingering the bow he was still carrying, he stepped past her into the front hall. 

Stefanie closed the door and turned back around. 

With his heart beat strong in his chest and adrenalin making him grip the bow tightly, Stiles snarled silently and swung his arm up, hitting Stefanie on the chin with the bow and making her head snap back. She crumpled with a quiet exclamation, her eyes rolling up as she fell. Catching her in one arm, Stiles then sunlight-leapt away.

He may be having trouble with his memory but he wasn’t stupid. If he couldn’t barge in and kill Ramona straight off, he’d do the next best thing. He’d kill her family. One by one.

And see how she liked it. 

***

Dumping Stefanie in the snow with little care, Stiles placed Brine’s bow and arrows on the Nemeton stump and waited.

Stefanie started to stir, her face scrunching up as she registered the pain in her jaw where Stiles had clocked her. Her chin was red with the welt mark from the bow, purple bruising starting to shadow down her neck. 

Stiles hauled her up, forcing a groan out of her. She automatically tensed, her eyes going wide when she saw him. “Let me go!”

Doing as asked, Stiles flung her backwards. She toppled heavily onto the stump, grunting in pain while Stiles hopped up next to her. Getting a grip on her leg just above her shoe, Stiles grinned at Stefanie without any humor.

“God!” she cried out and tried to pull herself away, but she could only go so far.

Stiles looked her over. “Not your God. Not by a long shot.” 

Stefanie lifted her hand with its perfectly manicured nails to touch her chin lightly. She brushed against the welt and sucked in a pained breath, glaring at him. “You can’t do this,” she told him.

“I can,” Stiles corrected.

With the foot Stiles wasn’t holding, Stefanie kicked out, aiming for his head and almost catching him by surprise. He managed to deflect the kick with his shoulder and in retaliation leant down heavily, putting weight on her ankle. 

Stefanie cried out harshly, “Stop! Stop!”, and Stiles eased off.

They glared at each other.

“We’re going to take you apart bit by bit,” Stefanie spat at him. 

Stiles shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“How’s your dog?” Stefanie sneered. “Put him down yet or is he still lingering, dying slowly? Are you going to bury him in the backyard like the mutt he is?” 

Clear and white hot anger burned through Stiles. His eyes flashed and he used fae strength to shove down.

Shrill and loud, Stefanie’s scream exploded around the grove as her shin and ankle bones split and cracked. Stiles sighed as her pain washed over him in sharp spikes of rich flavor. He shivered at the way she teetered on the edge of consciousness.

“Please,” Stefanie gasped, bravado gone. “Please.”

“Please, what? Please let you kill and dissect me?” Stiles scoffed at her. “Tell you what, you answer a few simple questions and I’ll let you go.”

“Okay,” Stefanie quickly agreed, a calculating look flashing across her face.

“I don’t want to hear your lies,” Stiles told her. “That’s not what you’re here for.”

“I won’t lie! I promise!”

“Unsurprisingly, I don’t believe you.”

Stefanie’s eyes glistened with tears, a ploy Stiles wouldn’t fall for. “I swear I’ll answer you truthfully.”

“Wow, you hunter types really will say anything to get out of a situation, won’t you? Where’s your honor?”

“Mine?” Stefanie spat, “What would you know of honor, kidnapping a woman and torturing her?”

Stiles considered her words. “Yeah, it looks bad, doesn’t it? But I just can’t seem to care when I think about what you want to do to me, and what your family has done to me, has done to Derek. And that’s what concerns me right now, not your fake tears or your lies.”

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” Stefanie realized. “Even though you said you would.”

“Nope,” Stiles admitted.

Stefanie looked around quickly, her gaze coming to rest on Brine’s bow and the attached arrows lying on the stump where Stiles had left them.

Stiles shook his head before taking up one arrow, pushing the bow and the rest of the arrows off the edge of the stump. He winked at her and smirked at the look of hatred he got in return. “Would never have worked,” he said casually, tapping the arrow head against Stefanie’s wrecked leg. “Well,” he sighed, “guess this is it then.”

“Wha …”

Stiles stabbed forward with the hand holding the arrow, piercing Stefanie’s throat. He held it there, not wanting to be covered in blood spray if he ripped it back out. 

Stefanie gurgled, her hands coming up to clutch at Stiles’ wrist and her throat as Stiles waited patiently. Her arms dropped away and she flopped backwards, Stiles letting the arrow go. 

Holding up his hand, he noted the sticky blood he’d still managed to get on himself, some of it running down his forearm. Annoying, but it could have been a lot worse. Leaning over, he put his hand on Stefanie’s wrist to check her pulse, smearing blood in a parody of a bracelet. Her pulse was jumping, faint but there; the last few plaintive beats. 

Reaching out with his fox ability, Stiles caught up Stefanie’s life before it slipped away. It spilled into him, the void expanding to take it all. Black lines ran up his arm, carrying with them sparks of electricity that set the hairs on his arms to standing. His eyes rolled back in his head. 

This …

It was …

So good.

Stiles moaned as Stefanie flowed into him. He could see her in her entirety, all her nasty actions through the years; her motives for wanting power over others, her revelry in being a hunter. All was laid bare for a split second before it was sucked down into the vastness of the void, and she died.

Swaying a little, Stiles was overcome by the mass of emotions swirling around in him that made up a human soul. Never again would he begrudge the Nogitsune the human lives it took when he’d been missing those couple of days. He got it now like he hadn’t before; even when he'd killed the deer it hadn't been like this. 

It was amazing.

He wanted more.

“One down,” he panted, and started to laugh.

***

Getting rid of Stefanie’s body was a pain in the ass. Especially as Stiles was under the influence of a good soul-sucking and was tripping balls. It had taken him an extraordinarily long time to come down enough to think through the mind-dribble and work out a doable plan of action.

He’d contemplated taking her to the dam and submerging her body under the ice, but that was too iffy as bodies tended to rise and drinking tap water afterwards knowing a body was rotting in it would be just plain gross. Plus, the iron in the dam would have made him sick, so that idea was vetoed rather quickly. 

Eventually, taking a page from the fae’s handbook, Stiles shoved Stefanie as far up a redwood tree as he could go after wrapping her in a plastic tarp he’d snuck from the back of his jeep. It was gag inducing and he’d stopped numerous times while folding the tarp over her body, waiting for his nausea to pass before taping it all together. Then, after a vertigo-laced tree climb curtesy of him still tripping, he’d hauled her up bit by bit with a rope and wedged her in a fork of branches close to the tree trunk, making sure she wasn’t in danger of falling onto unsuspecting hikers.

Tripping out on Stefanie’s soul had given the whole ordeal a strange dream-like haze and required a few sneaky sunlight-leaps; first to his dad’s to procure the tarp and rope, then a second trip back as he’d forgotten the duct tape. Stiles also had to take the body as far away from any walking tracks as he could get without leaving the county, which almost resulted in him stumbling into the path of a group of cross-country skiers whom he hadn’t known were there. 

Eventually he’d managed it, but it was a sucky experience and Stiles didn’t want to repeat it. Ever. If he was going to continue his plan of taking out Ramona’s people, he’d have to do it the old Brine way: getting the Tree to suck their bodies into energy particles. It sure beat having to lug a literal dead weight around. 

***


	12. The Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death and dissembling.

Stiles was still flying high from taking Stefanie’s soul into himself. It was similar to drinking too many energy drinks in a short period of time. He’d done that once and been put under house arrest for a whole weekend, his dad certain he’d taken some kind of prohibited drug. Apparently, energy drinks mixed with Adderall does not a good combo make. Live and learn. 

The point was, though most of that weekend was a blur, Stiles recalled the absolute rush of adrenalin-soaked euphoria he’d experienced. It was much the same as now, especially after he put the getting-rid-of-a-body thing behind him and just enjoyed. 

He felt fine. He felt good. He felt amazing. Better than. And incredibly horny.

“Hey, Der,” Stiles giggled as he fell down the cellar steps and bounced onto the blow-up mattress. “God, I wish you were awake, I’d ride you so hard right now if I could.” He rubbed himself up against Derek’s side, throwing a leg over and thrusting his dick against Derek’s through the blankets. It felt very fine, so he did it again and shuddered. “Derek,” he whined, leaning up into Derek’s neck and biting on the claiming mark, “wake up, please, I need you.”

There was no answer, Derek lying still and quiet, totally unmoved by Stiles undulating on top of him apart from rocking on the mattress as the air inside it was displaced by the increasing friction. 

“Come on, Derek. Wake up!” 

Stiles laved his tongue against Derek’s pulse point, something that normally had his wolf tipping his head back and cursing before stripping Stiles of any and all clothing. All that happened this time was Stiles nicking the tip of his tongue on his sharp fae teeth. 

He sat up on Derek and hissed at him. “This shit is so old! Snap the fuck out of it!” He shook Derek by the shoulders, screaming, “DEREK!!”

Derek’s serenity didn’t change.

In the face of such unresponsiveness, the flare of anger died as quickly as it had come, changing to despair, bile building in the back of Stiles’ throat. He scooted off Derek as fast as he could before turning and throwing up in the corner of the cellar. There was little to no food in his stomach and it hurt. The sound and smell was enough to make him heave again. Then once more, for good measure.

Ignoring the snot and tears and vile acid burn in his mouth, Stiles curled into a ball, lying against the Nemeton’s roots. His head spun and the very dirt underneath felt like thousands of needles pricking him. Rubbing at his arms, the pins and needles remained and Stiles cursed under his breath as his eyes roved around the cellar.

Seeing something move in one of the darker corners, Stiles tried to focus on it, his eyes widening in disbelief as Stefanie stepped into the light, blood dripping down her throat. She stooped down and picked up Brine’s combine bow from where Stiles had dropped it, fitting an arrow onto the string and drawing back, aiming at Stiles. She smiled coldly and pressed the release trigger.

Stiles closed his eyes as the arrow flew towards him. “Not real, not real, not real,” he muttered.

Stefanie was gone when he dared look again.

“Fuck this shit.” 

And fuck having Stefanie’s soul all to himself. Stiles wasn’t about to have her haunting him. The doe had been bad enough. He’d never actually meant to keep her anyway, she’d just tasted so good he hadn’t wanted to part with the energy. But now, under threat of having her hanging around, Stiles placed a hand on the closet root of the Tree and opened the void, feeling sick to his very bones and just wanting it to stop. He hoped Stefanie’s soul would fly out of him into the Tree, but there was no response. He’d eaten and eaten and sucked her down deep, and the void wasn’t about to let go.

“No,” Stiles groaned. “Get out!”

Stefanie had to be intact enough to leave him. The doe had merged with him slightly, but surely he’d be given a reprieve here, he was just trying to help the Tree for God’s sake! It could take her, take all of her, if it just worked with him a little.

“Help me,” he pleaded and reached down through their connection, trying to dredge up a bit of interest from the Tree, enough to spark it into action. But of course that wasn’t how the Tree worked; no real sentient consciousness existed for interest to be aroused. 

Yet something was happening. The Tree’s magic flowed within Stiles, becoming richer, fuller, before it delved into the void and touched the darkest parts of his soul.

Stiles screamed, his hand gripping the root with all his strength, muscles tensing up to the point of pain as what was left of Stefanie came roaring up. Her soul raked along Stiles’ nerves as it passed through him, still aware enough to fight, following along the Tree’s magical pathway, into the root under his palm. 

Left panting and twitching, utterly wrung out, Stiles’ head echoed with a bass drum roll. Everything hurt. It was a while before Stiles felt capable of propping himself up against the earthen wall of the cellar. His legs were limp noodles and he grimaced at the taste of rotting animal in his mouth. 

Snow was visible at the top of the stairs, through the open door, teasing with the allure of its perfectly cool crisp freshness. Crawling over to the cellar stairs, Stiles heaved himself up them until he lay at the entrance, upper body in the snow, and mouthed the cold ice until his lips turned numb. It was a nice contrast to how hot and constricting his skin felt. 

Flipping onto his back, Stiles stared up at the sky, noticing how dark it had become, the sunlight obscured by thick dark clouds. A rain drop hit his eyeball, making him blink furiously through the sting of it. Another hit his cheek and the heavens opened up, soaking him within seconds.

***

“Get up, you idiot.” Derek was poking him in the chest with hard jabs. 

Stiles hit out aimlessly, trying to get him to stop. “Go ‘way, ‘m sleeping.” There was discomfort in his back from lying on the stair edge and he turned on his side, trying to fit his hip into the hollow.

“Stiles! Get up!!”

There was a slap to Stiles’ cheek, hard and unforgiving, then another to his forehead. He squinted an eye open in annoyance. 

Derek stood above him, arms crossed, with a thunderous expression on his face. “Wake the fuck up, Stiles!”

“Derek?! You’re awake!” Stiles scrambled to his feet, needing to touch and reconnect.

Derek took a quick step back, shaking his head. “No, you don’t get it. This isn’t right. You need to wake up!”

Another slap to his face had Stiles whipping a hand up to touch his cheek because Derek hadn’t moved. Stiles eyed the grove but could see nothing that could have caused it. “What’s going on, Der?” A sharp invisible smack to his shoulder had him rubbing it.

Derek frowned. “You shouldn’t be here like this. You need to leave. Get out.” 

Stiles couldn’t have been more confused.

Derek cast a quick glance around as if looking for someone. “Don’t trust it,” he said quickly, stepping up into Stiles’ personal space. “It has its own agenda and it’s not on our side.”

Stiles stopped breathing. Derek was so close and Stiles missed him with an ache that made him want to scream. The need to grab him and hold on tight was overwhelming.

“Stiles, listen! It’s not telling you the whole truth.”

Stiles was immobile, trapped by the intense blue-green gaze he’d missed so much.

“God, I want …” Derek grimaced, his eyes flashing as he snarled in frustration. “Fuck!” His hands twitched, clenched into fists. “Stiles …” He sounded so lost. 

The sky darkened and a wind whipped up. The invisible thwacks started again, hitting Stiles in the shoulders and head. He held an arm up for protection. “Derek?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

Derek eyed the grove with a wary expression. “You need to leave,” he decided. “Leave now!” He reached out his hands, catching Stiles in the chest and pushing him backwards.

Stiles cried out, arms pinwheeling as he tried to keep his balance, tipping down the cellar stairs.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was coming to. Snow crunched under his hands as he sat up, and he looked at them in confusion. He was at the top of the cellar stairs, not at the bottom. And it was hailing; sharp pinging pellets smacking into him with a vengeance. He held a hand up to his eyes to shield them and called out, “Derek?” 

Derek was no longer standing where he’d been before. Nor was he anywhere in the grove. 

A dark feeling of certainty settled over Stiles and he slid down the cellar steps as fast as he could. He got to the bottom and moaned in distress at the sight of Derek lying on the blow-up mattress. “Derek,” he choked out, stumbling over the cellar floor. 

Shimmying underneath the blankets and holding on as tightly as possible to his wolf, Stiles lay his head on Derek’s chest. Wonderfully warm body heat seeped into him, and the whisper of air that fell while Derek breathed let Stiles know this was real, not a dream.

A delicious dream where Derek was awake and talking.

Stiles’ heart beat painfully. His throat constricted and a sob slipped out. He pressed his face into Derek’s chest and cried.

***

An exasperated sigh drifted through the air as moonlight seeped into the cellar like mist. Stiles opened his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping but he wasn’t altogether with it either.

The fae stood at the bottom of the steps and regarded him with disappointment. “Come, our dear heart, before you do something else inconceivable and once again threaten all our efforts with your singular contempt for your very existence.”

Stiles could only watch in bemusement as the fae stepped up the cellar stairs backwards like it had been put on rewind. It was a surprisingly graceful motion and was all the more creepy because of it. The light dimmed as the fae retreated and finally disappeared. Lying in the dark, Stiles idly wondered if he ever did things which weirded out the people in his life, then dismissed the thought as nonsense. 

Not understanding a word of what the fae had said but knowing he shouldn’t keep it waiting, he untangled himself from the blankets and stroked down Derek’s arm, squeezing a lax hand. “Back in a sec,” he promised, forcing himself to let go.

The night was cold and the ground slippery from the hail which had hardened into an icy layer over the previously fallen snow. Stiles trod carefully even though he was capable of skimming lightly over the ground if he choose to.

The fae stood with its head up, basking in the moonlight. 

Stiles stood beside it and copied its pose, tipping his head up to the moon but closing his eyes. He could feel the light playing over his face, seeking to capture his attention. He kept his eyes shut, needing answers and wary of being enraptured like last time. After a little bit, he dropped his head and slit his eyes sideways.

The fae stared back at him, its slanted eyes deep pools of darkness glittering under the moon’s influence. “Silly changeling fae,” it admonished him with a quiet tone, “taking the human woman’s life for your own.”

Stiles was annoyed. The fae was so contrary and he didn’t feel like listening to it needling him on his mistake. “You have an issue with taking human life? Not the impression I got.”

The fae shook its head slightly, its eyes flicking away before coming back to rest on him. “You’re actions disturb and threaten our plans. Why can you not follow the set path?”

“What set path?” Stiles exclaimed. “If there was a path maybe I’d follow it, but there isn’t one!” 

The fae hissed through its teeth in disagreement. 

Stiles dared to push further. “It would be a lot clearer if you just came right out and said what you wanted me to do.”

The fae grabbed Stiles’ wrist, its long fingers hard and unyielding in their grip. “We want what we have always wanted. For you to heal the Tree. Nothing else matters. Not your human existence, not your bond, not your wolf. You are fae, you are ours and you must comply!” 

It let him go with more force than necessary and Stiles rocked back on his feet to compensate, the snow crunching loudly in the moonlit quiet of the grove. 

The fae was contemptuous as it said, “We find we have to help you more than we anticipated.”

Stiles bridled. “Help? Are you joking right now?”

Its eyes slitted dangerously. “We have been nothing but helpful. And we continue to be so. Your disrespect does not become you, young changeling.”

Stiles lowered his eyes, somewhat chastened, and the fae smiled. 

“You will come with us. Learning will commence.” It grabbed Stiles’ wrist again and before he could guess what was happening, it leapt them through the night. 

Stiles whirled around, trying to figure out where the fae had taken him. There was a light smell of sugar maples drifting on the night breeze when he turned in a particular direction. A run of maple trees grew right on a corner of the preserve, butting up against Derek’s land; Stiles knew them from his time wandering Derek’s forest and guessed the fae had brought them to that spot. As he looked, he recognized the familiar outlines of the maples’ bare branches. Their wintery smell was nothing compared to what it would be like in the following months, softer and almost unnoticeable, so Stiles took a moment to feel proud of himself for using his nose like a wolf would. 

He turned to the fae, who was balancing on its toes, looking ready to take flight and just waiting for Stiles to say the word. “Why are we here?”

The fae’s smile was cutting. “Being fae, you are different from those you call family, young changeling.” Its expression melted into something softer, more considering. “Perhaps we should have shown you more than we have.”

“Ya think?” Stiles replied, then shut his mouth, as the fae’s eyes sparked.

“We will show you some of the joy tonight, joy in being what we are.” The fae held out its finger, pointing through the maples. 

Stiles registered a slight tread over snow, measured and controlled. Peering through the night shadows with fae sight, he picked out a man carrying a rifle in his hands, walking parallel to where they were, scanning the entire area as he went. 

“They walk your wolf’s land, stalking and searching, but for what purpose?”

Stiles scowled as he watched the man but didn’t answer the fae, knowing it didn’t actually want him to. This was part of its fun. By the fae’s explanation, this was one of Argent’s patrolling goons sent to keep Stiles in the cabin, no matter what was said about it being for his own safety. 

The man had night-vision headgear which made Stiles pause. He knew those things could use infrared, meaning he’d be unable to hide with illusions. Just as he was thinking it, the man turned and looked right through him before continuing to walk his line. 

Stiles blinked at the fae, questions pulling his mouth open.

The fae smirked. “We are beyond their science.”

Impressed, Stiles gave the fae its due. “Nice one.”

The fae laughed. “We are nothing but shadows to them. And light, when we want.” A small dot of light grew on the palm of its hand as it held it outstretched. “We are the fairy fire that waylays.” The fae flicked its hand and the light bobbed off its palm to float a few yards above the ground in front of them. “We are the will-o-wisps that lead humans to their fates.” The light zoomed off through the trees, to emerge winking beyond where the man was patrolling. “We hunt, just as we are hunted.”

The man saw the light and froze, his rifle with its scope coming up to his eye line as he tried to work out what he was seeing. He spoke into his com unit, “Stevens here, checking possible disturbance to the east.” An affirmative came back and the man started to edge towards the light.

Stiles mouth quirked, finding this entertaining from the get go. 

The fae chuckled along with him, sending another three balls of light zipping along to create a path, the wisps bobbing and winking in encouragement as the man lowered his rifle and began to follow to ernest, stumbling in his haste before righting himself and continuing. He never looked back over his shoulder or checked his path as he veered off the boundary of Derek’s land and further into the preserve.

Tracking the man was easy, even as he started to run to catch up to the lights which were now swirling in a coaxing flitting dance between the trees, making him crash through snow drifts and smack into tree trunks. There was one light that hovered closer than the others but just out of reach, darting away whenever the man reached for it, coming back and presenting itself like a prize. Stiles was amazed such a simple thing seemed to have taken over the man’s ability to think rationally. It was delightful. Feeling light and easy, a giggle escaped while he ran over the snow, following the man as the fae directed the lights where it willed. 

They travelled at a speed which should have seen the man tiring, even being trained in endurance as he undoubtedly was, but he didn’t seem to notice how he was panting for breath or the injuries he sustained tripping and bumping into things. He ignored the communications from his com unit which came in more and more frequently as time went on, at some point ripping his night vision gear from his face and dropping it into a snow bank. 

Sporting a truly manic look of joy, the fae sent the light to hover just above the man’s shoulder, making him gasp and spin around like a dog chasing its tail. He grunted and cursed but didn’t stop trying to catch the light even though he was worn out. 

Stiles laughed loudly, wanting to try the trick, and waggled his fingers. The fae gave a gallant wave of acquiesce. Holding out his hands, Stiles willed a ball of light to appear but nothing happened. He shot a quick look at the fae, who looked back at him with the clear challenge of a cocked eyebrow.

“I can do this,” Stiles breathed out, shaking his hands in readiness. He’d had an idea that the balls of light, obviously not driven by the sun, must be made of condensed moonlight. So it stood to reason all he needed to do was tap into it and manage it the same way. But no matter how he tried, nothing appeared. “What am I missing? Sunlight is so easy.”

The fae drifted to his side. “You have an affinity with the sun.”

“But not the moon?” Stiles questioned. “Isn’t moonlight just reflected sunlight?” He glared at his hands. “I should be able to do this.”

“Do not fret overly so, our own dear heart,” the fae told him. “When the Summation has concluded, the magics which hold you will be no more and everything you are will emerge. Much like a butterfly from its chrysalis and all the more beautiful because of your confinement.” It touched Stiles’ face, finger ghosting over cheek and down jaw, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. 

“What magics? Do you mean the fae puberty thing? What does the Summation have to do with that?” 

Turning its attention to the man, the fae didn’t answer. “See how it chases what it can never grasp. Greedy and stupid with want. How we despise the time of humans. We ache for the return of deep magic.” 

It flicked its fingers and the wisp of light stopped its cat-and-mouse game and rose above the man’s outstretched hands. The man jumped for it but still couldn’t reach, letting out a frustrated yell. The fae blinked and the wisp fell, smacking the man between the eyes and flooding him with a light so brilliant he turned incandescent. Then the light dimmed, slowly dying away into nothing. 

Stiles walked around the man, snorting at the look of stoned pleasure on his face. “What now?” he asked, poking the man in the shoulder and watching the non-reaction.

The fae came to stand with him. “We can end his life this moment. We can give him to the Tree. We can store him for the Summation. The choice is yours.”

Going through the options, Stiles ignored the disquiet at the thought of taking another soul into himself. “Killing him serves no purpose unless we give him to the Tree.”

“The Summation?” the fae queried.

Stiles frowned, still not sure what the Summation was, but the two druids hanging up in the redwood were a pretty good indicator of ritual so he went with his gut. “The Summation requires druids, those who cut down the Tree,” he guessed, knowing as he said it he was correct, the feeling inside growing strong with surety. “This guy’s required to make the Tree healthy enough for the Summation.”

The fae clapped its hands in delight. “We knew you would understand!” It hugged him close and Stiles sighed into it, feeling a calm settling over him. 

Stroking a hand down the back of Stiles’ head, the fae’s fingers ghosted over Derek’s claiming bite before settling over the top of it. Stiles’ dick twitched in pavlovian response and the fae slotted its hip into Stiles’ side. Stiles’ eyes hooded and slow arousal shimmered through him as he thought of Derek, the fae’s dick resting up against him through his jeans. His heart beat faster and his fingers tightened on the fae where he clutched at its skin. 

“Stiles-Who-Is-Not-Stiles,” the fae whispered reverently, purring into his ear. “Our own.”

“Derek,” Stiles answered, dopey on memories of soft smiles reserved just for him and the feel of a hard responsive body up against his own. He saw blue-green eyes, stubble and a strong jaw. Stiles breathed out, feeling lost and desperate, as unrelenting lips met his in a harsh demanding kiss. 

Waves of need rolled over him, relief in having his wolf touching him once again mixing with the urge to be as close as possible. “Derek, Derek, Derek,” he panted, scraping his nails down a harder-than-diamond back as he rolled his head, giving his wolf free reign to his neck.

The half moon caught his eye through the trees and he couldn’t look away, its face shining like a lemon slice of pure magic. 

Teeth bit into his neck gently, mouthing the claiming mark. 

Like a shock to the heart, the illusion ripped into nothing, as wrong-wrong-wrong! screamed through him. It was the fae, not Derek, in Stiles’ embrace. It was the fae, not Derek, who was making him come so violently he doubled over. 

As Stiles collapsed in the snow, panting and so overwrought he was shaking with it, come wet his groin and burned shame onto his cheeks. When the ringing in his ears died down, he could hear the fae laughing. Stiles clenched the snow under his hands so hard the ice hurt his skin, the pain helping him focus. Daring a glance upwards, he willed himself to neither break down nor attack the smirking bastard who watched him with glittering eyes. 

“Why??” he demanded.

“Because you are ours, body and soul,” the fae replied. “No matter what your inconvenient pair bonding makes you think.”

Stiles shook his head in denial but any words he could have said in reply were shocked out of him by the fae getting up in his face, making him flinch back violently. 

“But it is not time, not yet,” the fae mused. “And we have time aplenty.” 

Its fingers walked across Stiles’ groin and he flailed, trying to smack away the bold touch. A warm breeze blew inside his jeans across his dick and Stiles could feel everything drying, come flaking away to leave no physical trace of his body’s betrayal. The fae then stroked a hand against his brow, leaving an cold ice trail that pierced into his brain and made him cry out. 

Bringing a hand up to his forehead and squinting in discomfort from a slight headache, Stiles encountered ice crystals on his skin and dusted them off while he wondered why he was sitting in the snow. 

A hand was held down to him and the fae lifted to him to his feet. He felt woozy and held on to the fae’s supporting arm. “What happened?” 

Concern sharpened the fae’s already pointy face as it answered, “You fainted.”

Stiles thought back to what he could remember. They’d lured the man with will-o-wisps, which had been some much-needed fun. Then Stiles had decided to give the man to the Tree. Then … there was a blank space in his memory. 

Trying not to worry too much, Stiles looked over at where the man should be and sure enough he was still standing there, glazed expression fixed in place.

“You have a lot of responsibilities,” the fae explained, “and you are tired.” It took Stiles by the hand and led him away. “We have noticed you waning. Do not forget to take in sustenance.”

“Are you seriously telling me to eat?” Stiles asked, following along. “You sound like my dad.”

The fae gifted him with a quirk of a smile. “All things eat.”

“Do you eat food?” Stiles counted. “People food, not just sunlight?”

“We eat the world,” the fae answered, waving one hand to indicate everything around them. “All energy is ours to take. But you are changeling fae, part of you will always need what it was born to. You must eat your ‘human’ food or become so malnourished as to be of no use to us. We do not wish for that to happen.”

“I’m never hungry though.” Stiles pouted. “Can’t I just use the sun?” This was certainly not how he expected the night to pan out, being told yet again that he had to eat.

The fae shook its head. 

Stiles sighed explosively. “Fine! People food it is.”

The fae chuckled at him then looked over its shoulder, mouth curving up into a satisfied thin-lipped smile at the man following along behind them like a shuffling zombie. “Humans. So very pliable,” it mused, surprising Stiles by wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they walked. 

***

Stiles shoved the man into the Tree and watched him disappear into energy. “I still don’t get why he can be put in but Stefanie’s body can’t. What’s the difference?”

“Bodies require agreement of the vessel in order to be rendered into pure energy,” the fae explained. “Dead flesh has no anima to agree.”

Stiles pointed to the Tree. “He didn’t agree.”

“Under our influence this one’s autonomy became ours. We wish for sacrifice, sacrifice occurs.”

“Hang on, if I ‘control’ people I could just walk them into the Tree anytime I wanted?” Stiles was incredulous. “Why don’t we do that? That would be so much quicker!” He could pop on over to Ramona’s and get rid of everyone within a matter of a few hours, with the benefit going to the Tree. 

“Can you control them?” the fae asked, amused.

Stiles frowned. “No. So why don’t you just do it?”

The fae shook its head. “Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, think. We are no longer the protector of the Tree. We cannot sacrifice.”

“But you just got that guy.”

“You completed the sacrifice, not us.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Stiles agreed. “But why don’t we just work together? It would be awesome and so much faster!” He started to get excited. “You could teach me more about being fae, I could practice the whole moonlight magic thing, you could —”

The fae chuckled, standing close and running a hand down his back, leaving a cold trail in its wake. “In order for everything to be achieved, our young changeling fae, you must go it alone.” 

“But I don’t understand,” Stiles complained.

“It is not for you to understand, it is for you to help us achieve our wishes. You will do what is required, of that we have no doubt.”

The fae spoke with such certainty Stiles didn’t want to disappoint by pushing things. “Could we grab the rest of Argent’s minions?” he asked instead.

The fae nodded, and Stiles grinned in anticipation. 

They ran through the trees down to the river, the fae indicating another one of Argent’s people were there. It was entirely too close to Derek’s cabin and had Stiles seeing red. Argent had promised they would keep to the property lines but here someone was blatantly sneaking around Derek’s home. Argent was full of shit.

Stiles’ anger made him re-evaluate the fae’s game. It wasn’t enough to have these people follow some pretty lights. He waved the fae off before it could set the wisps on the man. “Can this be a bit more interactive?” He ran his tongue over the sharp points of his fae teeth, wishing he had claws. Rending sounded appealing.

Appraising him, the fae stepped back, bowing with an elaborate flourish and making Stiles snort. “We are happy to follow your lead. Continue.”

Stiles thought for a moment, then rubbed his hands together like a movie villain of old. “Take down your illusions. I want them to see and hear us.”

“Them?” The fae looked amused, apparently guessing where Stiles was going.

“Go get the others. Whoever’s left out there.”

The fae vanished.

Stiles didn’t have to wait long before the fae arrived back with a woman. Her eyes were wide in fear and when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. When the fae let her go, she didn’t try to fight or get away, just stood there staring at them. 

Stiles eyed her. “Is the silence your doing?” he asked the fae. “The stillness?”

The fae nodded. “Simple tricks where experience lends itself to the outcome.”

Stiles mind whirled with possibilities, a lot of them featuring Scott. “How do you do it?”

The fae moved his fingers through the air and the woman stumbled. She wasted no time with words, shooting them both a terrified look before quickly running away. The fae twisted its fingers once more. Stiles saw it this time; the air shimmied around the woman and she stiffened right where she was in mid stride. With a few more deft finger twists, the fae had her standing straight, arms and legs together.

“Wow,” Stiles whistled low. “Air manipulation? I guess when you can ride storms, making the air solid must be easy.” He wiggled his fingers.

The fae cautioned, “If you wish to solidify the air in your lungs, you may try. We suggest forgoing it until you are more competent in your skills.”

“Okay, no, I’ll leave that one alone.” Stiles shuddered. There went all those plans. “But you can do that, stop people breathing?”

The fae tipped its head to the side. “We are capable of whatever we choose.”

Between one second and the next Stiles found himself unable to take a breath. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth. There was no movement of his lungs, no muscle in his chest. He started to panic. 

The fae watched him without expression, merely waiting for him to reach out to it in desperation. 

As soon as his fingers brushed the fae, air whooshed back into Stiles’ lungs, expanding them. It was the best feeling he’d ever had. It probably hadn’t even been half a minute but being unable to breathe was terrifying. 

“Jesus, fuck! Okay, you made your point!” Stiles exclaimed. “I’m not going to try it, and I believe you when you say you can do anything.”

The fae dipped its head then indicated in the direction the other guard had walked off in, totally unaware of them being there. “We are waiting to see what you have in mind.”

Stiles turned back to the woman and frowned. His brush with suffocation had dimmed his enjoyment of the evening. “I’m not feeling it anymore.”

The fae’s eyebrows rose in harsh lines of disbelief. “Explain.”

Stiles shrugged and rubbed at his arms though he wasn’t cold. “I just want to go back to the grove.”

Looking between the woman and Stiles, the fae was obviously at a loss to understand his reasoning. “Young one, we admit to being disappointed.”

“You’re not the only one thinking that about me.”

The fae clasped Stiles’ shoulder. “They will still be removed, yes?”

“What? Oh, the guards. Sure, have at them.” Stiles went to leave but was held back.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, are you choosing to dismiss us to be with your wolf?” 

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not like that.” In truth, that’s exactly what it was. He’d been gone too long and was no longer enjoying himself. It was time to get back. 

“You called for us. You plead to be taught and yet when given the opportunity, you throw it away?” 

“No!” Stiles disputed, then relented under the fae’s stare. “I don’t mean to, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” He chanced pulling back a little and the fae let him go. There was a numbness where its palm had been and he rotated his arm to get feeling back into it. “Tonight was amazing,” he continued, hoping to appease. “The wisps are incredible and I want to learn everything you’ll teach me.”

“Good, let us continue,” the fae suggested.

“No.”

The fae’s eyes lost their reflective quality, becoming flat and remote. “No?”

“I want the Tree healed just as much as you,” Stiles tried to explain. “I want to get rid of the hunters and make sure balanced is restored.” He put a hand on his chest for emphasis. “I want that. But Derek’s a priority too, so I’m going back to him.” Turning away, an itch travelled down his spine as he expected the fae to stop him once more.

“Your wolf will return to you after the Summation.”

Stiles whirled back around, his heart skipping a beat. “What?”

“His predicament is not priority for us.” The fae was looking anywhere but at Stiles. “We were grossly mistaken in hoping you would feel the same.” It sighed and a slight breeze blew around their ankles. “We do not want you worried over such a thing when your attention is required elsewhere, so we say again; your wolf will return to you.”

Stiles was uncertain if he should feel elated, thrilled, worried, angry or all of the above. It was as if his emotions had been put in a bag and shaken up.

The fae smiled, all traces of negativity wiped away. “We have eased your mind about your wolf, now you will stay and do what you must.” 

That didn’t seem quite right. There was something Stiles couldn’t put his finger on, something he knew he should ask, but the words slipped past his grasp the more he tried to hang on to them.

“Dear one?”

Stiles glanced at the fae. “Um. Yeah, I guess.” He could stay a little longer now he knew Derek would be okay. 

His attention went back to the woman as a cloud of stress and fear wafted over from her. It hit just the right notes of sweetness and Stiles sucked it in, a smile beginning to grow. The woman’s com unit was on her hip and Stiles grinned as a wicked idea came to mind. 

“Let’s go,” he said to the fae, making sure the woman could hear him clearly. “Leave her, she’s nothing.”

The fae gave him a curious look but when Stiles walked away, it followed. 

When they were in the shadows of the trees, Stiles wove illusions over himself and leant against a tree trunk. He tipped his chin towards the woman. “Let her talk to her people.”

The fae’s teeth were a flash of reflected moonlight as its fingers twisted the air once more. 

The woman bent from the waist, falling forward but still held fast by her legs. She grabbed her com and spoke into it at a furious pace before she’d even finished straightening up. “Code Red, I repeat, Code Red! Two hostiles in Area B.” The woman stared at the place she’d seen Stiles and the fae disappear. “Unable to retreat, have been taken prisoner. Stevens’ location is still unknown. Extraction ill-advised …” The woman’s poise faulted and she swallowed hard. “Hostiles have the ability to freeze people.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said and put her finger back on her com, pressing it shakily. “Carl, do you hear me? I’m stuck in some kind of force field and the hostiles don’t look human. I think they could be aliens! I swear, I’m not making this up!”

Stiles hit his thigh in delight and the fae chuckled. Aliens! This was awesome.

A male voice came back over the woman’s com. “Lane, are you drunk? If you and Stevens are playing me, you’re both fired, despedido, you hear? Get back to base.”

Stiles frowned. That wouldn’t do. He stepped out of the trees and dropped his illusions. 

The woman, Lane, yelped as he suddenly appeared and fumbled her com, pressing it to her ear desperately as Stiles walked closer. “Carl, I’m telling you the truth! It’s right in front of me!”

Stiles plucked the com from out of her hand. “Carl, is it?” he said into the unit. “Lane’s telling the truth. Well, sort of. We’re not aliens, but if you’d like to dispute it we’ll stay in Area B and wait for you, ‘k? Bye.” He hung up and twirled the com unit around on its belt clip. “This is nice, nicer than the gear the Beacon Hills Police have. Chris Argent set you up with it or is it your own personal one?”

The woman shook her head and stammered, “Requisition.” 

The fae came up to stand by Stiles and the woman’s breathing sped up.

Stiles clicked his fingers to get her to focus back on him. “How’s that work? Who’s your boss if not Argent?”

“Carl, Carl is.”

“Carl?”

“Carlos Flores.”

Stiles paused, trying to think why the name Flores rang a bell with him. Then a memory came back of a hot day in a stifling room with entirely too many guns and people who wanted to use them. “The name Flores is Mexican, right?”

The woman nodded, her eyes darting back and forth between the fae and him. 

“But you’re not,” Stiles guessed. “Lane. Could be from anywhere.”

“Missouri, Branson. But I move around.” Speaking of her home, Lane seemed to rally somewhat and stood up straighter. Stiles liked that. It wouldn’t be as much fun if she was only filled with fear. 

Stefanie had been full of fear, but hate had been there too and she’d been delicious. Stiles was curious to see how Lane’s emotions influenced the taste of her soul. Hopefully things wouldn’t go as wrong for him this time as they had with Stefanie. He was still a little raw when thinking about how badly that had gone. 

Focussing back on the business at hand, Stiles found Lane watching him with a considering eye.

He tapped his chin with a finger then pointed it at her. “Tell me, Lane, from Missouri, Branson. Carlos Flores know any Calaveras down in ol’ Mehico?”

The fae, who’d been content to let Stiles run the show, looked to their right, hearing something that Stiles didn’t.

A man stepped out from behind a tree, his gun sighted on Stiles but his gaze fixed on the fae. “Why don’t you ask me your questions, monstruo, and let the woman alone.”

There was something distinctly ‘hunter’ in the man’s movements that had been lacking with Lane, and Stiles guessed this was the aforementioned Carlos. He pulled a face. “I’m a little rusty. Did you just call me a freak?”

“Monster, freak, it is all the same when it comes to supernatural escoria like you.” 

“Escoria?” Stiles smiled cockily. “That’s ‘snail’, right?”

Carlos’ scorn grew bigger. “That’s French, escargot, you idiot.” 

Stiles raised one brow. “Freak, monster, idiot and snail, all in less than a minute. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t call you a snail,” Carlos snarled. 

“Ah, yeah, buddy, pretty sure you did,” Stiles cheerfully argued, watching a nerve twitch above Carlos’ eye. “I distinctly heard a ‘e’ sounding word in there which you said meant ‘snail’, but you’re forgiven for being a little rattled and unable to remember. It is, after all, a stressful time for us all.” He paused as if rethinking what he’d just said, and shrugged. “Well, stressful for Laney here, anyway. You’ve got the gun, so you’re the big man on campus, and I have to admit this is all fun and games for my friend and I.” Stiles looked back at Lane and made a comical sad face. “Sorry, Laney, looks like tonight just sucks for you.”

Carlos looked like he was chewing his tongue. “Shut up, shut up!”

“Wow, no need to be so rude,” Stiles prattled on. “It’s not that hard to be polite you know. We waited for you, after all. We could have just killed Lane and left, but we decided to be nice about it and wait for you to show, give you the chance to rescue her. But now you’ve gone and been all nasty about it and I’ve changed my mind.”

Carlos blinked. “Who the hell are you?” 

“Me?” Stiles pointed to himself. “You know me. I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He pulled his glamour back on, showing his human face. “You know, the one you’ve been hired to keep an eye on.”

Both Lane and Carlos looked shocked, Carlos doing a double-take. “But you’re the one we’ve been hired to protect! Why are you doing this?”

It was Stiles’ turn to be surprised. “Argent really did hire you to protect me?”

Carlos nodded then glanced around. “Where’s Stevens?”

Stiles looked at the fae. “Well, shit. I should probably feel bad about this, huh?”

The fae just quirked its mouth, content to say nothing. 

Stiles turned back to Carlos, scratching at his cheek. “Your man’s dead.” While they processed that, he continued. “Do you know the Calaveras? Scary people, even scarier woman in charge. They like to hunt things.”

Carlos was still eyeing the fae, obviously trying to decided what he was actually looking at, when he answered, “We know of you, Stiles Stilinski. Best friend to True Alpha, Scott McCall of the Beacon Hills McCall pack.” His expression darkened. “We may have been helping Chris Argent, but don’t think you won’t be held accountable for what you’ve done here tonight.”

Stiles laughed once, a short bark, sounding more like Derek than a fae. He held up both hands in a questioning motion. “Who says you’re going to be alive to tell anyone about it, amigo?” He waggled one finger at Carlos, chiding him. “Now, who’s the snail?”

Carlos pulled the trigger of his gun, but neither Stiles nor the fae were there. The shot flew past where they’d been standing and hit a tree, just past Lane’s shoulder. 

From behind Carlos, Stiles jeered in delight. “You almost shot your employee, Carl! Your work insurance cover that?”

Carlos cursed and swung around, Stiles grabbing his gun and twisting it down. Dropping it to save himself from a shoulder dislocation, Carlos cursed at Stiles and a knife flashed forward in his left hand. Stiles saw it just in time and dodged backwards, shifting behind Carlos with fae speed and catching him up under his right arm, grabbing the knife out of his hand. Carlos went to keep fighting but the knife was at his throat, already cutting in, making him stop.

“Now, here’s how this is going to go,” Stiles explained, not even out of breath from their little tussle. “You and Lane are going to die. I’d say sorry, but I’m sure you’ve done some bad shit in your life, Carl, so killing you will actually be like some kind of second degree revenge on my part for those out there who you’ve wronged.”

“Never killed a human,” Carlos grunted. His feet shifted and Stiles pressed the blade that little bit harder. Carlos stilled.

“See, now that’s the kind of speciest bullshit that breeds bad feelings,” Stiles insisted. “It’s like the songs say, if everyone would just learn to get along and ‘love one another right now’, ‘the world would be a better place.’” He rested his head against the side of Carlos’ and sighed heavily, ignoring how the man obviously didn’t want him so close. “Don’t worry, at least your death will mean something. That’s what people want, right? A meaningful death? I’d personally like one without pain, but to each his own.” 

“I’m protecting you, hombre,” Carlos reminded him. “Why kill me?”

“Well for one, you’re going to tattle to your Mexican bosses and that’s going to complicate things. I really don’t need anyone else poking their nose into my business. Second reason is, you’re going to help heal a very special friend of mine.” 

Ignoring the dread in the pit of his stomach, Stiles closed his eyes and opened the void. It yawned, deep and hungry, and he almost shied away from what he had to do. But the Tree was more important than himself and if anything went wrong the fae was there and would help him. 

Stiles breathed out, calling on his fox ability and pulling at Carlos where they touched, cheek to cheek, feeling the black lines stretching across the surface of his face. Carlos stiffened and choked, went stiff as a board and then, frighteningly quickly, his soul unravelled, spooling into the big emptiness within Stiles that reached up and took and took and took.

Carlos’ life was one filled with violence towards supernaturals and tenderness for his wife, his little niece and his sister. Stiles folded to his knees among threads of third and forth birthday parties, fringed with balloons and firecrackers going off in the evenings. The gentleness Carlos displayed for family was interspersed with the beheadings of a whole werewolf pack, bar the children who were made to watch so they wouldn’t break 'the code' when they grew up.

The fae’s hand on the back of his neck had Stiles blinking and coming back to himself. He was kneeling in the snow with Carlos’ body cradled in his arms, Lane crying quietly where she stood. 

Stiles rolled Carlos into the snow and brushed his hands together as he stood up. He coughed, his lungs feeling dirty and when he took a step, his foot slid on the snow, too heavy to pick up properly. “Will it get easier?” he asked the fae, his stomach feeling bloated. 

The fae closed its hand around Stiles’ wrist as if checking his pulse. “You are not Nogitsune. You can take lives but not keep them.”

“What?” That was nothing like what Stiles had suspected. “But you gave me the doe.”

“Which you then gave to the Tree. We needed to make sure our assumptions were correct. Your gifts are for the Tree’s healing, not your own pleasure, though you may crave and crave until you are nothing but dried bones in the ground and loose earth blowing on the winds.”

Stiles wasn’t happy. “I need to get to the Tree.”

The fae nodded. “But first, this one.” It pointed to Lane, who shook while listening to every word they said.

“I don’t think I can,” Stiles protested. “It’ll be too much.”

“Can and will.” The fae had Carlos’ knife in its hand. 

Stiles had felt something strange about the knife when he’d held it before but hadn’t had the chance to really look. When the fae held it out to him, he took it and noted in surprise, “That isn’t steel.” Turning it over, he saw how it was all one piece; the handle and blade carved from black stone. Stiles looked at Lane. “What kind of knife is this?”

Lane shook her head. 

The fae was by her side in an instant. “Speak or die.” It held her neck with one hand, its intent very clear as long fingers tapped against a vein.

Lane gave a great shuddering noise, her eyes on Carlos where Stiles had left him crumpled in the snow. “Obsidian,” she got out in one big rush, before sucking air back through her teeth and clenching her jaw shut.

Stiles shook his head at the fae, who removed its fingers from around Lane’s neck and backed away. Raising one eyebrow, Stiles then eyed Lane’s legs. The fae rebuked him silently with a look but twisted its hand, and Lane was set free. She crumpled and Stiles was there, helping her down onto her knees and holding her gently by the shoulders.

“It’s okay, Lane. That’s not your first name, is it?”

Lane looked at him. “Hartley,” she whispered.

“Hartley Lane from Branson, Missouri,” Stiles said gently. “It’s okay.”

Lane merely shuddered in his hold. 

“Why did Carlos have an obsidian knife?” Despite everything going on, despite feeling Carlos’ life like a rock inside him, Stiles was curious and couldn’t let it go. 

When Lane answered it was slow and without inflection. “He boasted he’d used it to kill a snake demon. I never believed him. I think I do now.”

“You’re not well-versed in this sort of thing, are you?” Stiles guessed.

“First time with Carlos,” Lane admitted. “I was a depute in Utah on the Four Corners border. That’s where I met him. Seemed like a good idea when he offered me work.”

Stiles shut his eyes, inwardly cursing. “You’re a cop.”

“Was,” Lane corrected. “Stuff went wrong. Not my fault they said, but that was the end. Carl found me a few months later.”

Stiles breathed out heavily and bit his top lip.

“You killed him.” Lane was looking back at Carlos. “I don’t know the people he did, I only worked for him.” A sliver of hope flickered in her eyes.

“Doesn’t make a difference, I’m afraid,” Stiles told her. “Argent will get you to talk and I can’t have that.”

“I wouldn’t, I’d leave and never talk to him.”

Stiles shook his head. “Until the fear of this moment is removed by time and distance, then you’d find it all too easy to pick up a phone and I’d find myself with Argent trying to kill me. No thank you.”

Lane sighed and deflated, accepting she wasn’t getting away. “Does it hurt?”

Stiles tried to smile reassuringly. “I can make it so it won’t.” 

“Promise?”

Stiles nodded. “I promise.” 

He pushed on her shoulders and Lane took the hint and lay down in the snow. She put her hands on her stomach then by her sides, then brought them back up again, clenching them together. Her eyes never left Stiles’ face. 

Stiles put his hand over hers and looked up at the fae. “Can you make her sleep?”

The fae frowned. “Use the knife, it is fitting.”

Lane’s breathing caught, and Stiles looked back down at her. “No knife,” he told her. 

The fae shook its head, snorting like a horse, its hair whipping around. But it held out its fingers and twisted them. 

With fae sight Stiles watched the air around Lane’s head turn thin. Her eyes widened then dilated. “Oh,” she breathed out. Her breathing turned slow and shallow and one hand slipped out from under Stiles’ hold and landed in the snow.

Stiles placed his free hand on Lane’s cheek. Black lines swarmed up both palms and across the scars on his wrists. He gasped as she flowed into him, so much lightness and general good feelings. She tasted foul. 

As she flew the last few inches across Stiles’ skin and into the void, he saw himself as she saw him: a monster giving her no choice but a graceful exit, gray eyes shining into her own. Sad, sad eyes, full of pain. Alien. She’d met an alien. And he’d killed her with kindness.

Stiles wrenched away from Lane’s body, the fae picking him up effortlessly as he slumped. 

They arrived in the clearing and Stiles was laid down on the Nemeton. The shoots were visible to his fae sight, soaring above him, somehow moving to allow him room, cocooning him in a brown waxy shell that swayed with an unseen breeze. 

Carlos’ and Lane’s souls pooled like lead within him. Stiles groaned and pushed with his magic, forcing them to leave. The process burned through nerves still raw from expelling Stefanie but he kept going, pushing them out, needing them gone. They unravelled into the Nemeton below him, falling away, leaving Stiles hollow and starving when they finally left him.

The fae sat beside him and stroked his hair, blowing wind from its mouth that whistled around the stump in cool eddies. The wind sounded like Stiles’ mother singing to him from up in the sycamore tree. He curled into the fae, the shoots and leaves of the Nemeton becoming a blanket covering him from prying eyes. 

The fae’s hand on his brow and his mom’s voice on the wind tethered him, as slowly, slowly, Stiles turned away from the echoing emptiness inside himself.

***

Stiles opened the back door to his house. He was there to get what food he could while his dad was at work. It seemed the better option than visiting Derek’s cabin where someone was bound to be waiting for him to return. He was still a little raw after killing Argent’s people and moved slowly. It was a good thing, he supposed, that while he could take lives, he couldn’t keep them for any length of time. It meant the void would never be filled and that was a good thing. It was.

The house was quiet. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles opened the fridge. He didn’t find anything he wanted but forced himself to keep looking, rummaging through the pantry. Nothing looked even remotely appealing but the fae had been quite certain he still needed to eat human food. 

Glancing at the fruit bowl on the table and at a loss as to what to take, Stiles decided to err on the side of caution and take it all. He didn’t want to have to come back any time soon and fruit was still something he enjoyed. 

Grabbing a paper bag from under the sink, he tipped the fruit bowl into it. An orange missed the bag and rolled across the floor, stopping on the floor divide between the kitchen and the living room. 

Stiles sighed once more, this time with slight annoyance, and went to retrieve it. A movement to his right caused him to glance up, hand outstretched towards the orange. Scott was standing in the living room. Behind him, through the archway, Stiles could see the front door was wide open as if he’d just arrived.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott greeted.

Stiles picked up the orange and held it in a loose fist. “Scott.” He searched the house, looking behind himself into the kitchen, but no one else seemed to be there. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” 

Scott didn’t seem anything other than calm but Stiles had known him for too many years to be fooled. He backed up a step. “Yeah? How’d you find me? It’s not like anyone knew I was going to be here.” 

Scott immediately looked shifty. “Lucky guess.”

Stiles wasn’t surprised by the less-than credible explanation, a derisive noise escaping as he rolled his eyes. “You know what, I don’t care how. I didn’t ask you here, I don’t want you here, so get lost.”

“Nope.” Scott had the nerve to look self-righteously determined.

“No??”

“You heard me, no.”

“Last I checked, this isn’t your house.”

“Not really yours anymore either, is it?” Scott shot back. “You’d rather be anywhere else than with your dad. Besides, he’s okay with me being here so it doesn’t matter what you say.”

Giving Scott a dark glare, Stiles turned on his heels and went back through the kitchen.

Scott followed. “Seriously? You’re not even going to ask how he is??”

Stiles put the orange into the bag with the other fruit. “Who, my dad?”

Scott stared at him, incredulous. “Deaton, the man you almost choked to death? You’re not even worried are you?”

“Actually, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You’re telling the truth.” Scott shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “Well, even if you don’t care, I’m going to tell you. He’s in the hospital. You’ll be glad to know he’s refusing to tell the police who attacked him.”

“Why should I be glad about that?”

Scott blinked, his mouth falling open. “God, Stiles! A normal person would be grateful they’re not about to be arrested. It also means your dad doesn’t know either. Maybe that will get through to you.”

Stiles thought about it. It would make things easier, so that was good. He picked up the paper bag and left the kitchen.

“Stiles!”

“Go away, Scott. I don’t have time for you.” Stiles went to open the back door.

“Deaton’s saving your butt again, and that’s all you’ve got to say? You’re such a jerk!”

Stiles whirled on him. “That’s it, call it as you see it; Deaton doing me a huge favor because he’s sooo magnanimous! You’re wrong, as usual. Deaton understands how it is, even if you don’t.”

“Then help me to understand!” Scott reached out to touch him and Stiles snarled, fae teeth showing. Holding his hands up placatingly, Scott shook his head. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s going to break us.” 

Stiles wished Scott would get it into his thick head that they were already broken. 

Scott tried a different angle. “If Deaton’s not trying to keep you out of jail, why’s he doing it?”

“Eye for an eye, Scott,” Stiles scoffed. “He tried to control me, which could have killed me in the process, but failed. I could have killed him for it, but didn’t. He owes me. Simple as that.”

“That’s screwed up.”

“It’s logical. I don’t expect you to get it. I don’t expect you to care.”

“I do care!”

Stiles gave Scott a flat disbelieving look before opening the back door just enough to slide through, closing it behind him. He shook his head, thoroughly unimpressed with how stupid Scott was, and went to step down off the porch. The air sparked in front of him and he was pushed back roughly by an invisible force. The bag of fruit slipped from his grasp to land by his feet with a thump, a few apples and the orange falling out and rolling across the porch boards.

“What the fuck??” 

Reaching out, he touched what felt like a magical barrier, the air shimmering and contorting like a bubble under his hand. Pushing at it with his magic, he was sure it would fall as easily as Deaton’s wards at the vet clinic but he couldn’t seem to get a grasp on it. The barrier slipped and warped and fell away from his questing while remaining infuriatingly whole.

“Scott, you asshole! What the hell is this?!” 

Scott opened the back door and came out. “We thought you may not want to listen, so we had to find a way to make you.”

Stiles rounded on him. “Take it down before I take you down.”

Scott didn’t even look the least bit worried. “All we want to do it talk. Then we’ll remove the dust and you can go back to wherever it is you took Derek. But you need to listen first.”

“Fine! Talk!” Stiles snarled, throwing up his hands while thinking furiously. What had Scott used to create a barrier that could hold a fae? He’d mentioned dust, but that pixie crap had never had this effect before.

“Actually,” Scott nodded to behind Stiles, “Chris is the one who needs to tell you a few things.”

Stiles groaned, not bothering to look as Argent walked up the porch steps. 

“Stiles,” Argent greeted him. “We should go inside.”

“I’m good out here, thanks,” Stiles refused.

“You may be, but not all of us can regulate our body temperatures by sheer will in order to cope with this weather, so shall we?” Argent stepped unconcernedly between Stiles and Scott to get to the back door.

Stiles shot Scott a look of hatred. “Fucker,” he muttered.

“I didn’t tell him,” Scott sighed. He seemed resigned to Stiles swearing at him.

“He didn’t. It’s not hard to see you can do it,” Argent explained, opening the door. “Coming?”

Scott stooped to pick up the paper bag and dropped fruit, giving Stiles the time he needed to get truly pissed off that he couldn’t see a way out of listening to Argent, yet again.

He stormed into the house, all the way to the front door. Opening it, he was brought up short by Liam and Mason standing on the path outside. Mason looked like he wanted to be somewhere else, bundled up in a jacket and scarf, shivering in the cold. Liam just scowled, warm air blowing out his nose like an angry cartoon bull. 

Stiles curled his lip up in return. Just to make doubly sure he was hemmed in, he lifted his hand and found the barrier, making it shimmer once again as he pushed against it. 

“It’s not going to suddenly give way, you know,” Liam told him, sauntering closer. “Deaton mixed yarrow with the dust. You’re not going anywhere.”

Stiles smiled grimly. Deaton must have done a little more than just adding yarrow; there was druid magic skittering over his palm.

“Stiles.” Scott was behind him. “Please just listen. Then we’ll come up with a plan to wake Derek. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Shutting the door in Liam’s face, Stiles leant against it, enjoying the annoyed curse he heard from the other side. “Why should I listen when you’re holding me captive?”

“Because it’s about us,” Lydia said, as she and Malia came out of Stiles’ bedroom. 

***

Stiles was furiously thinking of a way out. Pressed up against the living room wall near the window, he was keeping his distance from everyone and so far, they were all doing the same. Seeing Lydia and Malia was unnerving and he wasn’t comfortable with the look of determination Lydia was throwing his way. He was pretty certain she was going to try to wrangle a hug at some point and he really didn’t want that.

“Honestly, Stiles,” Lydia huffed as she leant against the back of the sofa. She was a vision in high boots and skinny jeans; her curves still able to make Stiles pause to appreciate the female form even if he wasn’t in any way interested. “Scott told me you wouldn’t want to see me and I’m really annoyed to find out he’s right.”

Malia was a lot less concerned. She’d grabbed the T.V remote and was flipping through channels, not even looking Stiles’ way. With a shake of his head, Scott walked over and wrestled the remote off her. Malia glared at him, then sat back on the sofa in a quiet sulk.

A cushion hit Stiles in the chest. He looked in astonishment at Lydia, who stood with her hands on her hips. “Stiles! You will acknowledge me!”

Stiles eyed Lydia while saying nothing, his annoyance so strong he wanted to yell at everyone in the room.

Scott put an arm around Lydia, gently steering her to sit on the sofa as her eyes teared up. “Give him time,” he told her gently.

“I can see this isn’t going anywhere productive so I’m going to say my piece and leave,” Argent announced. He fixed Stiles with an icy look. “You know I’ve been watching Ramona Meahn’s house.” 

When it became apparent he expected a reply, Stiles nodded with a jerk of his head. 

“I managed to get a sound device and learnt some interesting things. I’ve been trying to get in contact to tell you about them. Been missing your phone for a while?” Argent asked.

Stiles spoke for the first time since he’d been blindsided by Lydia and Malia’s appearance. “Yeah, so?”

“Ramona got hold of your phone at some point and used it to find out about Derek and everyone you ever contacted.” 

Stiles bristled at the invasion of privacy. He must have been pick-pocketed at the dam and that meant Hans, because no one else had gotten close enough. He’d been so stupid to trust the man, even a little.

“It’s what helped her decide to go after Derek in the first place, but now she has no idea where he’s gone or if he lives and you’ve become the elusive target, so she’s been trying to devise something to bring you back out in the open.”

Stiles stood up a little bit straighter. “Not my dad?”

“No,” Argent shook his head. “Ramona actually seems to like your father. They had an interesting talk earlier this week and she’s decided he’s not to be touched.”

“He spoke to her?” Stiles pushed off from the wall. “What bit about ‘don’t let him near her’ did you not understand??”

“I’m not your father’s keeper,” Argent retorted. “He called her into the station on his own volition. He’s a big man and, unsurprisingly, can make his own decisions.”

“If she hurts him, you’ll pay,” Stiles warned.

“That threat has no validity. You just want to blame me for something to justify your dislike,” Argent informed him.

“I don’t need another justifiable reason,” Stiles told him. “You breathing is quite enough.” 

Argent ignored the jibe. “Ramona has chosen your friends to focus on next. Specifically, Malia and Lydia.”

“And you had them come back to Beacon Hills to make it easier for her? Congratulations, that’s amazingly stupid.”

Malia glanced over at Stiles. “Actually, I was bored. Coming back worked for me.”

“And I’m needed here,” Lydia added.

“Not for me, you’re not,” Stiles said, finally speaking to her. 

Lydia’s eyes narrowed dangerously like she was contemplating letting him have it, but Stiles caught a sliver of hurt that couldn’t be hidden by bravado. He smirked in satisfaction.

“There’s something else,” Argent interrupted. “Stefanie Meahn went missing from Ramona’s house yesterday. What did you do to her?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh to cover his worry. He thought he’d been careful enough. “Should I even know who she is, let alone care?”

“Derek told us what happened at the dam and who was there. Cue may have become tight-lipped about giving anything away that could incriminate you, but I don’t need his knowledge to put two and two together.”

“And what, come up with a thousand?” Stiles snorted lightly and looked around the room as if he hadn’t a care. “I say good for Cue, it wouldn’t have been easy standing up to you. Seems adults threatening children runs in your family.”

“I did not …” Argent closed his eyes for a second. “I have video feed that shows you taking her from the house.”

“I doubt that.” Stiles eyed the window, wondering if the magic barrier extended right around the house. “What exactly does your video show?”

Scott spoke up. “It shows a figure appearing on the doorstep, someone answering the door and then the figure slipping inside.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Stefanie probably decided to leave on her own. Her family is crazy.”

“A figure?” Stiles was surprised Scott wasn’t actively condemning him already.

Scott explained, “It’s filmed in infrared, so it’s only a heat signature.”

“Your heat signature,” Argent told Stiles. “The normal feed shows it was Stefanie who answered the door to someone who was invisible to the naked eye.” He gave Stiles a patent Hunter glare, but it was like water off a duck’s back now Stiles knew they had nothing that would stick. 

“Circumstantial evidence, if anything,” he told Argent. “What was it you said about wanting a reason for my dislike? Sure you weren’t projecting just a bit?” 

Everyone give Argent a considering look, but Stiles dared not feel any relief. Chemo signals would be his undoing if he wasn’t very careful. 

“You were upfront right from the start that you’re looking for a reason to kill me,” he added.

“That’s not what I meant!” Argent retorted.

“Really? ‘Don’t be a monster, Stiles, or I’ll kill you’,” Stiles intoned. “You’ve been trying to find dirt on me since you arrived back in town.”

“I’ve been trying to help you!” Argent turned to Scott. “You can’t believe this. He’s manipulating you! It’s him on the feed; the low body heat of an invisible person. There is no one else!”

Scott looked torn. “I don’t know that, Chris. I do know what you’re telling me doesn’t feel right. Stiles hasn’t killed anyone.” His eyes flicked away as he spoke and Stiles was certain he was thinking about Deaton. 

“Ask him point blank. Ask him,” Argent pressed.

“I’m not going to do that. I believe him when he says he doesn’t know what you're talking about.”

Argent turned to Stiles. “Did you kill Stefanie Meahn?”

“Sure,” Stiles scoffed. “Yep, of course. And then I killed a cop, because hey, why not?”

“I can’t tell,” Liam spoke up, looking at Scott. “His heart beat stayed the same, erratic and hard to read.”

Scott looked over at Malia, silently asking her to use her so-much-better-than-his nose. 

Malia shrugged, giving Stiles a smile. “He smells fine. Good even.”

Argent gave her a dirty look. “He’s tricking all of you.”

“Then he’s doing a very good job,” Scott allowed. “Chris, until you can give me something more, I’m standing by my best friend.” 

Stiles could honestly not believe what he’d just heard. He gaped at Scott, unable to hide his shock.

Argent took a sudden step forwards, but was blocked from getting closer to Stiles by Malia, who stood up from the sofa to cut him off. Her claws were out as her hands hung by her sides. Not exactly a promise of attack, merely a very effective silent threat. 

Stiles took a second to appreciate this interesting turn of events. He hadn’t expected anyone to come to his defense but in a matter of seconds he had both Scott and Malia backing him up. 

“There is no one else it could be,” Argent complained, eyeing Malia.

“I can think of someone,” Mason spoke up. “If Stiles can do what you say he can, then it stands to reason the other fae, the one who’s probably been around for hundreds of years, can do it too.” He gave a slight shrug in apology as though Stiles would be angry at him for suggesting the obvious. Stiles was actually thinking Mason couldn’t have taken the blame off him any better than if he’d paid him to do it. 

“Stiles,” Scott asked, “could the fae have done this?”

Stiles thumbed at his bottom lip to stop from smiling. “It’s possible.”

“Could you ask or find out somehow? Would that be dangerous for you?”

Stiles dropped his hand. “The fae isn’t a danger to me.” At Scott’s skeptical look, he insisted, “It isn’t.”

Scott nodded. “That’s it then. That’s the best we’ve got so far and I’m agreeing with Mason. The fae could have done it, or someone else entirely, or Stefanie may have just left.”

“Right.” Argent had nothing but contempt for them all as he looked at everyone in the room before coming back to Stiles. “Well played. You’ll screw up eventually though.”

“Get out of my house,” Stiles demanded, using gruffness to hide the smug satisfaction that was threatening to burst out.

Argent stalked out, the front door sounding very final as it shut behind him.

A collective sigh went through the room and Stiles let himself ponder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t sided with him. Then he had other things to worry about as everyone’s attention was drawn back to him. 

Pointing a thumb towards the door, he tried for an easy escape. “If you’d be so kind as to drop the barrier, I’ll go now.”

Malia and Scott exchanged pointed looks, a quick silent conversation which ended with Malia sighing. “I’m supposed to ask you to stay so we can talk, but I’m good with whatever. I can talk to you anytime.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Stiles’ mouth. Malia was a nice change from everyone who ordered him around, and her standing up to Scott had always been a source of amusement.

“I’d like it if you stayed,” Lydia told him.

“I’d like it if you’d leave,” Liam added.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He was done with people treating his home like it wasn’t his. “Why don’t you leave? Better yet, how ‘bout I make you?”

“Stop!” Scott barked. “Liam, shut up. I’ll break the barrier, Stiles. You’re not a prisoner.” He held up something that looked like a decent-sized dark crystal but crushed it in his palm before Stiles could get a good look at it, then pocketed the remains as Deaton’s magic shivered over the house and fell away. “There, you can go. But please stay.”

Derek’s phone started ringing, stopping Scott from further pleading, and Stiles had never loved technology more than he did right then. Fishing it out of his pocket, Stiles frowned when he saw who was calling. With the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, he stepped into the hallway to answer. 

“What, Cue?”

“Hey, Stiles.” Cue sounded a bit breathless. “You visiting your dad?”

“Good guess.”

“Anyone else there?”

Cue’s tone made Stiles pay closer attention. “Yeah, why?”

“I was just wondering if dinner could be changed to lunch today?”

Stiles tried not to let confusion bleed into his answer. “Sure.”

Cue breathed out heavily in what sounded like relief. “Cool. Can you pick me up, like, now?”

Stiles thought furiously. Had Romana gotten hold of Cue somehow? “Give me a bit and I’ll be there,” he said. 

Cue hung up. 

Staring at Derek’s phone, Stiles wondered if he was about to walk into a trap. 

Malia leant on the wall near his elbow, making him jump. “I’ll come with,” she offered, like she hadn’t just snuck up on him. When Stiles went to argue with her, she shook her head and pointed back to the living room. “It’ll give us time to talk.” She rolled her eyes like it was the last thing she wanted to do. 

“Ookaay,” Stiles agreed, curious as to whether Malia was trying to trick him into believing she was on his side or just trying to get away from Scott. Maybe it was both. He plucked the jeep keys from off the entranceway hook. If nothing else, Malia would come in handy if Cue was setting him up.

Scott came into the hallway and stood with his arms crossed. “You’re going? I wanted the pack to spend some time together.” 

Biting back a dry laugh, Stiles said, “Well, Scott, the ‘not pack’ part of the equation, i.e me, is leaving.”

Scott looked confused for a split second. “Oh, yeah.” His mouth pursed like he’d bitten something nasty.

Malia opened the front door and stepped outside. As she jumped down the steps and strode over to the jeep, Stiles turned to Scott. “Thanks for believing me,” he said, hoping he came across as somewhat sincere.

Scott lifted a shoulder. “Of course.” His arms uncrossed and his entire being seemed to uncoil. “Thanks for letting Malia go with you.”

It was Stiles turn to shrug, trying to look a little unsure. It wasn’t hard. 

Scott relaxed even further, giving him a supportive smile. 

Stiles gave a half wave and walked down the path. As he slid into his jeep he curbed his amusement at having duped Scott with such ease. He didn’t need Malia smelling it on him.

Malia rolled the passenger window all the way down and leant her arm on the door. “Who’s Cue and why do we care?”

Stiles turned the ignition on. “No one. And we don’t, though everyone says we do.”

Malia side-eyed him. “Gotcha.” 

She fell silent until they were a block away from the house but when Stiles stopped at a red light, she cocked her head at him. He held back a sigh.

“You don’t have to act like I annoy you,” she said bluntly. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

“And don’t look at me like that either. I just thought you needed a heads up, but I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Heads up about what?” 

A car behind them honked as the light turned green. Stiles frowned into the rearview mirror, putting his foot on the gas. The car suddenly swerved and overtook, the driver giving a finger out the window as they roared past. Stiles curled his lip and his fingers tightened on the wheel as he imagined using the driver as a sacrifice. 

“Do you do that often?” Malia asked.

“What?”

“Look like you’re contemplating murder. If you do, you may want to stop with the eyes because it’s a dead giveaway,” Malia said, before her face lit up. “Hey, I made a joke!”

Stiles tried to come up with something to say and failed. 

Malia looked at him. “You don’t know you’re flashing your eyes at people? Stiles, it was one of the first things you helped me get under control.” She gave him a slightly disgusted look. “You even did it to Lydia.”

“I did not!” 

“You’re still doing it.”

Stiles blinked and his sight went back to human. He rubbed a hand over his face. 

Malia shot him a smug grin then turned serious. “They want to sit you down and do an ‘interfering’.”

“Intervention?” Stiles grit his teeth. How many more times did he have to justify himself?

“That’s it,” Malia agreed. “The whole thing is stupid and I told them so.”

“You don’t think I need help?” Stiles asked, curious.

“Oh no, you need help,” Malia told him. “Just not the kind they think you do.”

Stiles glanced at her. “What help do I need?”

“You need help getting rid of this Ramona person, right?” 

Unsure what Malia was saying, Stiles said nothing, not wanting to give away anything incriminating.

“Am I wrong?” Malia growled at herself in frustration. “I thought I was getting better at this!”

Stiles frowned, taking the next turn a little too fast. “Are you trying to get me to admit to something? Did Scott put you up to this?” Malia looked at him in confusion, but Stiles wasn’t buying it. “I knew he wasn’t being honest!” He hit the steering wheel with a fist. “Fucking ass!”

Malia rolled her eyes. “Yes, because I do whatever Scott tells me to. Don’t be an idiot. I’m here to help in whatever way you need me.” Her sudden smile was wide and bright. “I’m looking forward to it. Uni life gets boring real fast when there’s no parties and I‘m not actually enrolled, and all Lydia does is study and wait for Jordan Parrish to come up on weekends.” She mimed throwing up. “You can picture it, right? I need to do something, Stiles! I almost clawed a waiter the other day just to feel the adrenalin rush. I didn’t do it, but it was close.”

Stiles closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth, feeling no lie in what he’d just heard. All he got from Malia was an honesty that was kind of terrifying because he could feel himself responding to it favorably, like old times. 

“Don’t worry,” Malia added, “I don’t expect you to trust me. Derek told me how hard that’s been for you lately. I just wanted to let you know without anyone else butting in. When you decide to get rid of this bitch in whatever way, I’m with you.”

“In whatever way?”

Malia nodded, her smile getting that little bit wilder. “Anyway, anytime.” She looked out the jeep’s front window, her smile falling away and a wave of melancholy floating across the jeep to Stiles. “They don’t get it, what it’s like to be us. Sometimes everything they do seems so stupid and human.”

Stiles swallowed against the pull of her emotions. They were full of regret and pain and felt so good, like drops of cream on his tongue.

“In the wild, it’s kill or be killed,” Malia mused. “It’s so simple. Most of the time I want a human life but the whole morality thing is so …”

“Complicated,” Stiles supplied softly, as she trailed off.

Malia shot him a look. “Yeah. It makes me rethink everything all the time, always second guessing myself. Have I chosen the right path; did I do the right thing; why is everyone looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face, or did I say something that isn’t acceptable again?” 

Stiles’ mouth twitched at listening to Malia’s banter. He hadn’t noticed he’d missed it, but he had. He’d missed her.

Malia went back to looking out the window. “You and I have to make choices others don’t because of what we are. Being away from here, there was no one who really got me. Lydia comes close but it’s not instinctual like it is with you.”

Stiles took another turn, not saying anything. 

“I’m not declaring my ever-lasting love or anything like that,” Malia continued. “My reasons for coming back are entirely about self-preservation. I was going mad trying to be as human as possible for those university snobs. But it’s not who I am and I’m done. Now I’m back, I can be myself and I know there’s always one person who will accept me, no matter what.” She punched Stiles lightly in the shoulder. “That’s you,” she told him, “in case you didn’t get it.”

Stiles just kept driving. 

***

Cue opened the door to his house and ushered Stiles inside, only to stop Malia from entering. “Who the hell is this?!”

“This is Malia,” Stiles told him. “She’s … a friend.”

“Is she human?”

Malia growled at Cue, her eyes flashing and a hint of fang showing. “Got a problem with non-humans?”

Cue darted a look at Stiles, before jutting his chin out in defiance. “Not if Stiles says it’s okay.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s okay.”

Cue’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Why’d you ask me here, Cue?”

“I need your help.” Cue beckoned them to follow and walked through a doorway just off the entrance.

Stiles waited for Malia to sniff the air and listen for a bit. “One more with him,” she said, pointing towards the direction Cue had gone. 

There was nothing to do but follow.

Taking a good look around, Stiles walked past a dining room, kitchen and bathroom. He didn’t think it was a trap anymore, but seeing Cue nervously chewing on a fingernail as he waited down the end of a hallway made him hesitant.

Cue dropped his hand from his mouth and shot a glance back into the room. “Stiles, I swear, man, if there was anything else I could think of, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Um, see, the thing is …”

Stiles sighed in frustration and pushed past Cue, only to stop short. The room held very little but what it had was definitely Cue’s. His backpack hung from a chair and a small pile of books took up pride of place on a computer desk. Sitting on a single bed made up with hardly any creases in the bedspread, was Bonnie, Cue’s cousin.

Stiles’ glamor dropped as he snarled, “You!” and took a threatening step forward, though he had no idea what he was planning on doing. 

Bonnie made a squeaking noise and backed up on the bed.

Cue pulled at Stiles’ arm. “Wait! Wait, Stiles! Just listen!”

Stiles shook Cue off then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Talk.”

Cue opened his mouth. “Well, see, Bonnie —”

“No,” Stiles said through gritted teeth, “not you. Her.”

Bonnie stared at him. He stared right back.

“I’ve never … “ Bonnie started, then dropped her eyes, swallowing. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stare, I’ve just never seen anyone like you before. Ramona told us you looked different, but I —”

Stiles hissed in anger. Hearing Ramona’s name made him instantly furious. His magic sparked in response, the hairs on his arms standing up. The lights in Cue’s room started flickering, a humming coming from the wires. Stiles could feel the electricity building inside the walls, rushing to meet him.

Bonnie stopped talking, her lips moving silently for a second before she clamped her mouth shut and hunched in on herself.

Malia’s hand on Stiles’ arm was such an unexpected thing his magic almost attacked her. She jerked her hand away as if she’d felt something but then bent closer, murmuring in his ear, “Just keep breathing.” 

Hearing Derek’s and his mantra made Stiles choke back sudden tears. And with that, the anger flowed away; the lights stopping pretending they were at a rave and the electricity returned to its regular wavelength.

When he didn’t want to skin Bonnie for just uttering Ramona’s name, Stiles looked towards the bed where Cue watched him carefully. Bonnie was gripping Cue’s arm as tightly as she could while scrunching herself up against his side.

“That was … what was that?” Cue asked, pulling a face. “A bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Why is she here?” Malia asked, pointing at Bonnie and trampling right over Cue’s question. “And who is she?”

“This is my cousin, Bonnie.” Cue put an arm around her, surprising Stiles. Since when was Cue so friendly with the enemy? “She’s in real trouble and I can’t think of anyone who could help her except maybe, Stiles.” 

“Why me?” Stiles asked, completely confused by such a request. “Why would I help her?”

Cue looked at Bonnie. “Tell him.”

Bonnie let go of Cue’s arm and sat up. “My aunt killed Stefanie, our other cousin, I’m sure of it. I think I’m going to be next.”

Stiles didn’t even have to pretend to be shocked. 

“See, Stiles? We have to protect her.”

Bonnie nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing with Cue. “Stef stood up to … her, and then she went missing. Everyone says they have no idea where she’s gone, they even tried to blame you. But Cue says you’re nice and I’m hoping he’s right. I don’t want to kill things.”

“Things?” Malia’s lip curled. “Don’t you mean people?”

“Yeah.” Bonnie’s head was in danger of falling off as she nodded again frantically. “I do. You guys are people,” she eyed Stiles, “no matter if you’re freaky-looking. Cue got out of our family and I want to do the same. You helped him, so help me.”

“No,” Stiles said. He didn’t need another charity case, one was enough. “I don’t trust you, I don’t like you and I don’t do pity parties.” He indicated for Malia to leave the room first, which she did, then he followed.

Cue caught them as they reached the front door. “Stiles! What are you doing? You’re the good guy. Help us.”

Stiles looked hard at Cue. “What made you think I’m the good guy?” He walked out the front door.

“Because,” Cue called after him as he walked towards his jeep, “even after I tried to kill you, you ended up being my friend.”

Stiles stopped walking, Malia watching him closely. “That was all my dad,” he said over his shoulder. “It wasn’t me.”

“Maybe,” Cue conceded, coming to stand next to him on the path. “I’ve seen enough to know you have the worst temper in the history of whenever, but everyone sticks by you. Why would they do that if you weren’t a good person? They all say you are and I believe them.”

Stiles thought about holding the arrow in Stefanie’s neck so she wouldn’t bleed on him while she died. “You believe wrong,” he told Cue, and got into his jeep while Malia climbed into the passenger side.

Reversing down the driveway, Stiles felt he made the right decision. When he got to the road, he made the mistake of looking back at the house. Bonnie had come to the front door and was leaning against it, hugging herself while Cue spoke to her. She shook her head and went back inside. Cue slumped where he stood.

“Don’t do it,” Stiles said to himself out loud. “Don’t be an idiot. It won’t make any difference.” 

“It might mean Bonnie won’t end up dead,” Malia observed. “Which would be a big difference for her. But not so much to you or I. Maybe to Cue though. How much family does he have?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Malia shrugged. “If she’s the only sane family he has, I can see why he’d want her to live. It’s nice to have at least one family member that’s not crazy-evil. Is she crazy-evil?”

“That remains to be seen,” Stiles mumbled, looking back at the house. 

Cue was standing there staring at them.

“If you don’t want to do it for them, maybe you should do it for you,” Malia suggested. “Chris Argent may be less inclined to think badly of you if you’re seen to be helping others.”

That was a very good point. Maybe Stiles could foster Bonnie off on his dad if she turned out to not be a spy for Ramona. And if she was, she could easily join Stefanie.

Stiles drove back up the driveway. He got out of his jeep and stalked past Cue into the house. “If we’re doing this, she has to prove she’s telling the truth.” 

“Yeah, sure!” Cue looked a hundred times happier. “Bonnie!” he called down the hallway, “Stiles changed his mind!”

“I did not,” Stiles disagreed, as Bonnie came quickly down the hall. “I’m giving you a chance to convince me you’re not lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.” 

Walking into the living room like he owned the place, Stiles sat down in a wicker chair and waited for the others to join him. He hooked his foot around the leg of a matching chair and pulled it over to face him. 

“You,” he said to Bonnie, “sit here.” Bonnie paused and Stiles smirked a little, patting the chair’s cushion for effect. 

As Bonnie sat down her knees bumped into Stiles, they were that close. Waves of trepidation and fear came from her, wiping out anything else Bonnie may have felt. While enjoyable, that wouldn’t do. Stiles needed her calm enough that he could get a good taste of her emotions and know he hadn’t missed anything.

He ignored Bonnie for the moment and asked Cue, “Your carers out for the day?”

“The entire day. I wouldn’t have asked you over if they were home.”

“Don’t you trust me with them?” 

Cue looked insulted. “Yeah, I do. But if I find the whole, ‘we’ll give you the stable home-life we think you never had’ routine a bit much, I doubt you’d stomach them.”

“What, they going to try to foster me?” Stiles snorted.

“It wouldn’t be surprising,” Cue said. “It’d be funny to watch but I thought I’d save you the drama. You’ve got enough in your life as is.”

“My drama-filled life thanks you,” Stiles replied dryly. 

“We aim to please,” Cue shot back.

Stiles gave an easy chuckle. Cue was easy to converse with. Scott needed to take lessons. 

Malia was watching them with an expression that didn’t sit well on her. It was as if she’d just confirmed something she hadn’t wanted to. She looked like Scott. It made Stiles feel exposed and wish he hadn’t let her tag along.

Ignoring her for the time being, he turned back to Bonnie who had relaxed considerably as he’d joked with Cue, which is exactly what he’d wanted. “You’re going to talk and I’m going to listen. Starting now.” He stretched out his fox ability.

Bonnie looked him right in the eye which took considerable guts because Stiles could feel the unease lurking just below her determination to prove herself. “I don’t know if you can help me,” she admitted. “Cue said you could and I trust him, more than I trust anyone else in my family. I was closest to Stef, but now she’s … missing.” 

Her eyes developed a sheen and Stiles felt her unhappiness. Sharp like cut glass, it called to him, so tempting was the desire to feed off her. Instead, he imagined his ability as fingers in a stream and Bonnie’s emotions the tide that floated past. He’d taste it all, but indulge in nothing. The void would remain closed, Bonnie wouldn’t die, and Stiles wouldn’t have witnesses.

Chancing a subtle nudging of the conversation, he said, “Maybe Stefanie ran away. Was she threatened?”

“After we met you, Stef was so angry Ramona let you go.” Bonnie stopped quickly, her hand coming up to her mouth. 

Feeling no anger this time at hearing Ramona’s name, Stiles motioned for her to continue.

“Ookaay.” Bonnie looked confused but relieved at the same time. “Cue and I saw each other on and off when his dad was alive. Stef is, was, older than both of us and it’s only now that I’ve been training that she’s taken any interest in me.” 

Frowning, Bonnie picked at the knee of her jeans. She was quiet for so long, Stiles wanted to shake her, but he held back the impulse, reminding himself he wasn’t there to hurt her. Not if she kept telling the truth anyway.

“This whole hunting thing isn’t out in the open in our family,” Bonnie finally continued. “I’m pretty sure only the adults know, not the children, and maybe not even all of them. I wasn’t told until I grew up. I wish I hadn’t been, but Ramona chose me to train under her and I guess that’s all that matters because suddenly I’m no longer living with my parents and I’m moving across the country hunting a guy not much older than me,” she gestured at Stiles, “who Ramona said was some dangerous creature that must be killed and how it was up to us to keep humanity safe.” She’d almost ran out of breath by the time she finished and took a huge gulp of air.

“Nice spiel,” Stiles commented dryly. “Not very original though. Long story short; do you agree with her?”

“I don’t think I ever did. Not like Stef.” Instead of sounding sure, Bonnie grew quietly reflective once more, her uncertainty growing as she sat there. 

None of this was helpful to Stiles at all. “Is this a ploy to get close to me?” he pressed.

“No?” The truth was just barely there in Bonnie’s answer. Stiles guessed she was so mixed up she was second-guessing herself. He needed to push further.

“Do you think she killed your cousin?”

“Yes! Stef wouldn’t run off, she’s too head strong and enjoys the hunting life. She likes killing things.” Bonnie confided in an almost-whisper, “She told me about killing a werewolf with Ramona a few years ago. She laughed about it.”

That Stefanie had enjoyed killing wasn’t news to Stiles; her soul had shown she’d been all about power plays. And it was becoming obvious the longer Bonnie spoke that Stefanie had been doing something similar to her. It looked like Stiles had done Bonnie an inadvertent favor, getting her out from under Stefanie’s influence.

“You haven’t convinced me you’re not doing this on Ramona’s orders,” he told her.

Bonnie flinched. “I’m not, I swear.” 

The truth of that washed over Stiles and he exhaled quietly. Bonnie was not a spy.

Looking annoyed, Cue spoke up. “Stiles, Bonnie’s been sucked into this just as much as I was. Give her a break.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Stiles glared at him. “Be quiet or leave.”

Cue subsided with a huff, obviously pissed. Stiles couldn’t care less.

“It’s alright,” Bonnie soothed. “I’ve wanted to talk about all this for ages but there was no one to tell.” She smiled at Stiles, which was shocking enough, but the feeling of relief that came with it was what floored him the most. “Ramona hated that Stef stood up to her. Stef threatened to go after you herself and I thought Ramona was going to strangle her. A few days later, she disappeared. There’s no evidence she ran off or was taken against her will.” Again, Bonnie paused, her eyes having a tell-tale shine to them. “If Ramona would kill Stef over an argument, she’s definitely going to kill me. I’m not a good hunter, I don’t want to hurt anyone. She’s probably wishing she’d already done it.” 

The honesty coming off Bonnie made Stiles want to roll his eyes; she truly believed her life was in danger from her aunt. The sadness and hint of fear she was trying to suppress tasted better, and Stiles allowed himself to take a little bit more of those before he pulled back. If she thought about it, Stiles knew Bonnie would find holes in her reckoning. Killing relatives wouldn’t work long-term for Ramona, especially Bonnie who was just a child. Making her go home to her parents made far more sense and wouldn’t set Ramona up for jail time if she was caught. 

The question was, did Stiles explain this or did he keep both Cue and Bonnie believing the lie? The lie was tempting, but there’d be too much work involved; he’d have to keep Bonnie separated from his dad who’d be all too quick to point out the obvious. And anyway, where would Stiles hide her? Not in the grove. Nope. Never there.

Stiles chewed on the inside of his cheek. Why was he even considering helping this girl? He should just send her home to Ramona … to be indoctrinated into killing supernaturals. Including himself. Sighing, he decided. “You need to talk to my dad. He’ll figure something out and it’ll be legal.”

“But that’s the thing,” Cue argued. “Bonnie has no proof that Stef was killed by Ramona, only a feeling. That’s not enough. Your dad won’t be able to do anything. Trust me, Bonnie’ll go ‘missing’ just like Stef has and no one will ever find her.”

That wasn’t true but Stiles couldn’t explain how he knew Bonnie was relatively safe with her aunt. Maybe if he could get Bonnie alone somehow he could set it up to look like she’d run away. He’d stick her in the Nemeton and he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this anymore. Then he could get back to what really mattered; saving Derek and healing the Tree. 

It was very tempting.

But his dad would start an investigation and Argent would be watching entirely too closely, and even if Stef’s and Bonnie’s bodies were never found, Stiles didn’t need the extra scrutiny that would surely follow him.

“Stiles, please.” Cue walked over and stood behind Bonnie’s chair. “Give her a chance. She can help us. She has information we don’t.”

That piqued Stiles’ interest. “What kind of information?”

Cue looked expectedly at Bonnie, who just looked lost. “I don’t know what I could tell you,” she said. “I guess I may know a bit about Ramona’s plans. Maybe I could give you an insight into how she thinks? I don’t know what you’d want to know.”

Stiles wasn’t even sure at this point, either. He rubbed at his forehead with one hand. “How long ago did you take off?”

“A couple of hours?” Bonnie looked at Cue for confirmation. “Ramona won’t be worrying just yet. I was getting dinner for tonight.”

“It takes you a few hours to get dinner?”

Bonnie looked rueful as she admitted, “I’m not that good at staying on target. I wander the isles in supermarkets. I think she sent me out more to get rid of me than anything else.”

Stiles gave Cue a dark look, wanting to bang the kid’s head against something hard for landing him in this mess. “Whatever the reason she did it, we can’t stay here,” he told them. “First place she’ll look is where Cue normally hangs out: his home, his workplace. Best plan is for Bonnie to come with me and we’ll work out what to do next.”

“You can’t take her home,” Malia interrupted. “Your dad’s the Sheriff, Stiles, he’s mandated to tell Ramona where her underaged charge is, especially if he knows she’s run away. If Bonnie can’t prove she’s in danger, your dad has to hand her over. It’s one of the reasons I wouldn’t have tried to hide at yours if I’d left my dad.”

Stiles hadn’t known that. “You would have at least dropped by though, right?” He didn’t know why he cared as it was in the past.

Malia looked at him like he was stupid. “I would have made you come with me. I told you this before. I had a plan.”

Stiles was both pleased she’d never tried to carry it out and curious as to what Malia had decided was the best course to get him to go. He’d never have left his dad willingly before he was fae.

“Can we focus here?” Cue demanded. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” Stiles disagreed. Thinking of Malia wanting to run but deciding to stick it out had given him an idea. He looked at Bonnie. “How good an actor are you?” 

***

“This sucks and it’s going to get her killed,” Cue whined from the back of Stiles’ jeep.

“Only if she’s an idiot,” Stiles pointed out rationally. 

Dropping Bonnie off at the supermarket where she was supposed to be buying food was the easy part of his plan. Convincing her to return to Ramona’s had been the hardest, but Stiles wasn’t about to pander to her and Cue bemoaning their limited options.

“It was either this or my dad, Cue. Bonnie made her choice.”

“What choice? You could have helped her. Instead, you helped yourself.”

Stiles didn’t care overly much that Cue was angry with him. What did piss him off was Cue guessing correctly why he’d urged Bonnie to go home. He glared at Cue in the rearview mirror. “How would you have had me help her? Neither of you want my dad involved. I explained why Ramona killing Stefanie makes no sense. She’s not in any danger. Her spying for us is just a bonus.” A big fat bonus he couldn’t walk away from.

“And if Ramona did kill Stef, what then, Stiles? Bonnie will be next! Doesn’t that worry you just a little bit?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “The worst thing that could happen is Ramona finding out her niece doesn’t trust her and tried to run away. What family doesn’t have issues?”

“Her life really doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

Stiles said nothing, choosing neither to defend himself nor refute the accusation.

***

Lydia was the only one in the house when Stiles walked into the kitchen. Malia shoved past him and went straight to the fridge, mumbling about how hungry she was. Cue almost pushed Malia out of the way in his haste to grab something too.

Putting her fork down, Lydia sat back in her chair, watching them. A salad and a glass of water were on the table in front of her.

Stiles grabbed a banana from the paper bag Scott had placed back on the table, side-eyeing Lydia while peeling the banana and shoving most of it in his mouth. He’d had hopes for a quick grab-and-leave but that was obviously not going to happen. The world seemed bent on throwing obstacles in his way. One of which was sitting at his kitchen table doing her best to make him look at her directly.

“I’d like it if we could talk,” Lydia said, not letting Stiles’ obvious reluctance sway her at all. 

Stiles swallowed once, twice, than shoveled in the other half of the banana. Mouth full, he walked out of the kitchen. Maybe Lydia would get the point if he was dismissive enough. 

She followed him down the hallway into his bedroom where she shut the door and leant against it. 

Grabbing a water bottle sitting on his bedside desk, Stiles took the longest drink he could, but Lydia just waited. He moved to the window, intending to leave.

“Stop it, Stiles. Stop being so childish. I’ve done nothing to you. I just want to help.”

Stiles spine stiffened. “Everyone says that, then they tell me what to do and don’t listen to what I have to say. Why would you be any different?”

“Since when have I ever been like anyone else?” 

Lydia sounded so affronted Stiles half-smiled to himself, remembering her strutting down the halls, queen of their high school. He leant against the window sill. “How would you help me?”

“By listening to you, just like you’ve done for me more times than I can count.”

Stiles thought about telling her all he had done since he’d seen her last. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t listen.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m your friend.” Lydia moved from the door and sat on his bed, smoothing her hand over the clean and un-rumpled sheets.

Stiles hadn’t made the bed so he idly wondered when his dad did. Had he done it thinking about his son, worrying about him and Derek? Had he sat where Lydia was sitting now, staring around at the room that used to mean so much to Stiles but didn’t anymore? 

“We are friends, right?” Lydia asked, not looking at him.

That was a question to which Stiles had no idea what the answer was. There was a chance he was lying when he answered, “We were.”

“But we’re not anymore?”

Stiles tried to ignore how heartbroken Lydia sounded. Tightening his hold on his fox ability, he shut it away, not wanting to feel any of this. “You’re Scott’s friend, Lydia. You can’t have us both.”

“Why? What changed?”

Unease was beginning to make Stiles itch like ants were running on him. “Everything changed. Me. Scott.”

“But what does not getting along with Scott have to do with me?” Lydia pointed between the two of them. “We can still be friends.”

“Doesn’t work that way.” Stiles rubbed at his arms.

“Why? Because of some stupid pack-related issue you have? If that’s it, I won’t be pack! There, I said it. I choose you, Stiles. Every time, I’d choose you.” 

“That doesn’t fix things,” Stiles hedged, edging around the room towards the door.

“Why?” Lydia stood up.

Stiles grimaced. His skin was itching like mad. “It’s just the way it is.”

“You let Malia go with you to pick up Cue. Why are you okay with her and not me? Is it an ex-girlfriend thing?” Lydia looked like she was seriously regretting not going out with him if it meant this was where they ended up.

Stiles choked on a laugh. “No.”

“Then why?”

He needed to get out of the room, away from her. If Lydia wouldn’t back off, Stiles would make her. “You want to fix me. That’s why you came back, isn’t it? Why you deferred the year? I didn’t ask you to do that. I’d never ask that.”

“I want to help you get better!”

Stiles snorted. He’d heard that before.

“You need help, Stiles!” Lydia clenched her fists in agitation. “You know you do.”

Stiles pounced on her words. “Right there; that’s the difference between you.” He’d make Lydia second guess herself by picking on her insecurity of not being perfect. “I’m not broken. I’m just me. That’s who Malia sees and she accepts it. She accepts me.” 

“I accept you.” Lydia was bent on making this difficult.

“You don’t. But that’s fine because I’m not asking you to change. You are who you are.” Now he’d put the blame for their broken friendship on her. Her guilt over time would change to anger and Lydia would never want to speak to him again. Mission accomplished.

Stiles scratched at his claim mark, trying to lesson the itching.

“Stiles —”

“If you really want to help me, you’ll let me go.”

“That will never happen. You’re not thinking straight right now. I can help you, but you need to give me time!”

Raising an eyebrow, Stiles cocked his head. Lydia had just said exactly what he’d told her she would. Exactly what she said she wouldn’t.

Lydia pursed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “You’re too good at this.”

“I just work with what I’m given. Not my fault everyone’s convinced I need fixing.”

“What if I do a pinky promise?” Lydia asked. “I’ll not tell you what I think you’re doing wrong, I’ll just be your friend.” 

She really didn’t want to give up. It was endearing in an annoying kind of way. Stiles congratulated himself on having chosen such an obstinately strong-willed person for his first major crush.

Lydia took a step towards him and Stiles backed up into the door, shaking his head. The claim mark was throbbing in time to his pulse which started beating loudly in his ears. It only now occurred to him it could mean Derek was in trouble.

“So that’s it, we’re done? Just like that?” Lydia’s words were faint, having to go through the pounding in Stiles’ head.

“Just like that,” he agreed. He opened his bedroom door and went to step through.

Lydia reached out, her hand brushing his forearm. Suddenly, warped and stretched as if coming from somewhere far away, Derek was yelling, “Lydia!” into Stiles’ ear, making him stiffen in shock. One look at Lydia’s glazed expression as she dug her nails into his arm had Stiles fearing the worst. Only the dead or dying could speak to a Banshee.

The beating of his heart turned into the whooshing noise of a great ocean. It was all around Stiles and he was lost, adrift somewhere in a storm. Someone grabbed him. Malia’s voice telling him to, “Keep breathing,” came clearly through the roar in his mind, giving him something to focus on. Stiles breathed out slowly, the deafening ocean noise subsiding into the rapid thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. As time passed and he kept his breathing regular, his heart slowed and the beat faded away. 

Malia came into view before him. “What was that?!” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” Stiles croaked. “It was like …” He closed his eyes, trying to think. “The storm inside the telluric current. Only it wasn’t that.” 

Completely confused and unimpressed, Malia said, “I’m going to act like that made sense to me so we can work out what to do about this.” She motioned to where Lydia was gripping Stiles, trance expression still firmly in place. Making sure Stiles could stand on his own, Malia went to pry Lydia’s hand off. 

“Don’t!” Stiles cried, slumping against the wall. “I think she’s talking to Derek through me!” 

Malia gave Stiles an incredulous look. “She’s talking to Derek?”

“Through our claim. I heard him speak to her. If she lets go, she might loose him.” Stiles didn’t need to explain why he didn’t want that happening.

“Stiles,” Malia spoke slowly, “it’s not a good thing if he’s talking to her. Remember when you did that?”

“She’s speaking to Derek right now?” Cue asked. He’d followed Malia and was standing behind her in the hallway, looking at Lydia with a mix of curiosity and worry. “How? And when’d you do that?”

“When I was dying in Brine’s camp.”

Cue frowned. “Hang on a mo. You’re saying Derek’s talking to her like you did, when you died??”

There was a pause while all three of them let the ramifications of that sink in.

“I can’t stay here,” Stiles told them. “I have to get to the Nemeton.”

Malia’s eyes widened. “That’s where you hid him! Why didn’t we think of that? God, we’re so brainless, we ignored the most obvious place!”

“Not that important right now.” Cue nodded his head towards Stiles. “I think he’s got a plan. That’s not always a good thing.”

“I have great plans,” Stiles argued. “They just don’t always work when people are involved.” He looked at Lydia, unable to guess if her still being in a trance was a good thing or not. “I’m taking her with me.”

“Oh!” Cue bounced a little on his feet. “You’re going to teleport? Neat!”

Malia frowned at Stiles. “Scott told me a bit about that. How many people can you do?”

“No idea, but I’m only taking her.”

Grabbing his arm, just above where Lydia held him, Malia threatened, “Try it and see how far you get. You’re taking me. If something’s wrong, I can help.”

Cue slapped his hand onto Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m not staying here on my own!”

Stiles didn’t have time to argue. He focused on the midday sun spilling from his bedroom windows across the doorway where they all stood. It was warm and inviting, threading through his skin, filling him up and chasing the chill from the air. He imagined his magic curling around Lydia, then with a little bit of grudging appreciation for them sticking by him, Malia and Cue. 

Picturing the clearing as the place he wanted to be, a second later Stiles felt snow under his feet and a freezing wind whistling past. 

“Fuck, fuck! So fucking cold!” Cue zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where are we?”

“The Nemeton grove.” Malia looked around curiously, letting go of Stiles’ arm. “Where’s Derek?”

Stiles paused, not sure he wanted to show them. In fact, just having them this close to the Tree made him uneasy. 

Malia nudged him gently. “This is about Derek, Stiles. Ignore whatever is pulling at you for bringing us here.”

“What are you, my life coach?” Stiles grumbled, eyeing her. How had she guessed what he was feeling? Just how much did Derek tell her during their weekly phone calls? 

“Stiles, come on, where is he?” Malia asked, taking hold of his hand. 

Stiles could feel how cold her fingers were getting, but she wasn’t complaining. She just wanted to help. He squeezed Malia’s hand and she squeezed back. Malia was right. This was about Derek. 

Ignoring his reluctance not to give up Derek’s location and the urge to force Malia and Cue to leave, Stiles unravelled the illusion which stopped anyone from seeing the cellar door.

Cue took a step back, his eyes widening. “Anyone else just witness a huge-ass door appear in the ground near that dead tree stump?”

“It’s not dead,” Stiles snarled as he started walking towards it. 

Lydia jerked, her grip on his arm still strong, and shuffled after him, staring sightlessly ahead.

“It looks dead to me,” Cue shot back. “And where is it you said we are? Neme-what now?”

“Cue, shut up, before I make you.” Stiles got hold of the cellar door and pulled it open, then stood at the top, staring down into the space below the stairs.

Malia started talking to Cue, probably explaining what the Tree was, but all Stiles cared about was the man lying on the blow-up mattress among the Nemeton’s roots. He dared not use their claim to check what was happening. Lydia was still in her trance and his scar felt raw; there was no telling if he’d disrupt the connection. He should go down into the cellar and visually check on Derek but the unknown wove a paralysing blanket over him, making it impossible for him to move.

Malia took the first steps down into the cellar. “Give me some light, Stiles,” she instructed as she walked down into the dark. “Derek said you could do that.”

Stiles waved an absent-minded hand. Sunlight washed down the steps and filled the cellar. 

“Dude!” Cue gaped at him. “You can bend light?!”

Malia was moving around out of sight. “Stiles, he’s okay!”

The ground actually swirled closer for a second as Stiles’ relief made itself known. 

“Woah, Stiles!” Cue had a hold of his arm. 

Stiles was getting tired of people grabbing him.

Malia came back up the stairs and between them, she and Cue helped Stiles and Lydia down the cellar steps. Stopping at the bottom, Stiles’ gaze locked on Derek. He lay quietly on the mattress where he’d been since Stiles put him there, breathing regularly and seemingly fine.

Malia took Lydia’s free hand and tugged her over to Derek, Stiles following as Lydia’s trance-grip still held him tightly. He dropped down by Derek’s side, knees bouncing on the mattress. Lydia almost toppled into him but Malia stopped her and helped her to sit. Slowly, Stiles reached out shaking fingers and ran them through Derek’s hair. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the most wonderful thing.

“Now what?” Malia asked after a length of time had passed.

“I guess we start simple,” Stiles advised, no longer wiling to wait for the Summation for Derek to wake up. “Get Lydia to touch him. Maybe that will do something.” 

Malia placed Lydia’s free hand onto Derek’s chest, just below his neck where the blankets weren’t covering. They waited. Nothing happened. Lydia stayed in her trance and Derek continued sleeping. Stiles couldn’t say he was surprised, nothing was that easy.

“What are we doing wrong?” Malia huffed out, sitting down on the dirt. “You sure you heard her speaking with him?”

“I didn’t hear her, I heard Derek.” 

Malia shot him a look.

“Don’t start,” Stiles defended. “I’m not wrong, I know what I heard.”

“I wasn’t thinking that. It’s just interesting. When you died, Lydia spoke to you like you were standing right next to us. I couldn’t hear you and she didn’t go into a trance. If Derek’s talking to Lydia now, why is she like this, when she wasn’t with you?”

Stiles looked between Lydia and Derek. A light went on in his brain. “Because it’s not the same. Derek’s not dying like I was; he’s stuck somewhere in the astral plane on a telluric current, somewhere that can’t be reached by normal astral projection.”

“There’s abnormal whatever-you-called-it?” Cue asked.

“Lydia’s a banshee. Maybe when she touched me …” Stiles gently touched his claiming scar. “I think I was right; she’s using our claim, Derek’s and mine, to breach the barrier.”

Cue sighed in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

Stiles turned to Malia. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Malia scrunched up her nose. “I have no idea either.”

But Stiles was certain he was onto something. “I had a dream with Derek in it. It felt so real. We were here, in the clearing. When I went into the telluric current to search for him, his cord faded out here too. If he’s here and Lydia is with him, if she got further than I did … then, maybe … we can bring him back!” He almost jumped up in excitement, Malia’s restraining hand stopping him long enough for him to remember Lydia’s iron grip on his arm. “Holy shit, Malia! I just need to do what I did before with my dad; I’ll follow the cords, but this time I’ll find Derek by following Lydia through the barrier. Then I can get Derek out!” Stiles could hardly dare to believe he may have worked it out. He could save Derek.

“What did you do with your dad? Stiles, explain things so I can understand!” Malia demanded.

“When I went into the telluric current, my dad held my cord so he could pull me back out if I got stuck. You’re going to do the same thing.”

“I’m going to hold your what now?”

“My cord.” Stiles reached out, stopping just shy of touching Malia’s forehead. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Malia searched his face. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’m going to use my magic so you can see what I see. There’s going to be a cord coming from Derek’s, Lydia’s and my bodies. You’re going to hold them, like an anchor.”

“You said something about pulling you out?”

“You won’t have to.” Stiles dropped his hand and settled himself on the mattress alongside Derek. “I can get us out, I just need you to not let go so I don’t get lost in there.”

“In the ‘astral plane’?”

Stiles nodded. He didn’t have time to try to explain the intricate differences between telluric currents and astral planes and how it was possible to be in both at the same time. He wasn’t even sure how it all worked, just that it did. He wiggled his fingers at Malia, who screwed up her face, but bent closer so Stiles could touch her forehead and send his magic into her. 

Opening up Malia’s mind was easier than doing it to his dad. Possibly because by being supernatural she was already somewhat magical herself. Unlike Stiles’ dad, who had no magic in him what-so-ever. 

“Ow.” Malia blinked and swayed back. “Its like you punched me in the brain.”

Stiles didn’t apologize, though he admitted to himself he may have used less finesse this time round because he was excited. “Just rest your eyes over Derek’s chest and try not to focus. You’ll see a —”

“Cord with no color coming out of his chest,” Malia interrupted. “I see it.”

Stiles was impressed. That was quick. 

Cue came over and settled on the ground on the other side of the mattress as Stiles dropped his glamor. “Don’t get stuck wherever you’re going,” he said, not even flinching as he looked directly at Stiles’ fae face.

“Why, would you miss me?”

Cue shrugged, looking away. “Nah.”

“Come on, come on,” Malia hurried them up. “My eyes are watering. What am I supposed to do now?”

Stiles didn’t answer as Derek’s cord came into view, rising up through the roots of the Nemeton above them. Now that was interesting …

“Stiles, focus! Or don’t, I don’t know, just keep talking me through this!” Malia complained.

Looking over at Lydia, Stiles couldn’t see a cord coming off her. That put a kink in his plan. “Malia, do you see Lydia’s cord?”

“No. Why doesn’t she have one?”

Stiles wasn’t sure. “Lydia might be doing something other than astral projecting.” He groaned in frustration. “I don’t know! My knowledge of banshees is limited to ‘screams really loud’.”

Malia was beginning to look a bit edgy. “Yeah, right. Since when didn’t you have encyclopedic knowledge of Lydia floating around in your brain? Can we hurry this up? Your magic is making me want to change and I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold you guys if I do.”

“Here,” Stiles took Derek’s cord in his hand and it wrapped itself around his wrist almost immediately. “Take hold of it. You’re going to do the same to mine. Then, just hold on.”

Malia tentatively poked a finger at Derek’s cord. It rippled, but stayed true when she grabbed it quickly. She looked relieved. “I totally thought it was going to put up a fight. You know, like Derek would.”

“When you see my cord, do the same,” Stiles advised, closing his eyes.

“Is there a time limit on this?” Cue asked.

Stiles fumbled for a number, remembering it had taken him a while to follow Derek’s cord the first time. “Six hours, then Malia can pull us out if we’re still in there.”

“You just said a random number, didn’t you.”

“No,” Stiles defended. “It’s half a day and a quarter of twenty four hours.” Derek’s cord was a familiar pulsing against his skin. Stiles’ breathing evened out.

“He has no idea how long it’s going to take, does he?” Cue observed to Malia.

Body sensations faded away.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More quoting, because Stiles can't help himself. 
> 
> The songs he mentions to Carlos are: 'Get Together' by The Young Bloods, and 'Put a Little Love in Your Heart' by David Ruffin.
> 
> (I like the thought of Stiles' mom giving him an eclectic taste in music. I can just see them dancing around the living room together when Stiles was little and oh so adorable.)


	13. The Weakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up, wake up, wherever you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a link to some wonderful art work done by AndyLM for this fic. Check it out to see Fae Stiles in all his un-glamored glory. Beautiful stuff.
> 
> https://andersongermanottauniverse.tumblr.com/

Stiles stood at the base of the Nemeton stump, looking at it in awe. A newly grown leaf waved near his head, the electrified air of the astral plane blowing it gently to and fro. 

“Seems you liked those extra couple of souls, huh?” Stiles touched the leaf fondly and smiled when another frond unfurled and reached for the tips of his fingers. “You look amazing.”

The Nemeton had taken leaps and bounds in its growth since Stiles had put Argent’s people inside it. The outer brown waxy shoots had merged into a translucent bark-like membrane under which more individual shoots could be seen, still growing and moving, stretching ever upwards. 

As he walked around the Tree, Stiles ran his hand along the membrane, noting its smooth cool texture, marveling at the way it rippled and expanded as the shoots inside of it grew.

Halfway around the Tree’s base he paused, entranced by the tiny green leaves which were sprouting out from the membrane whenever he touched it. Running his fingers along in a swirling motion, he chuckled as the leaves followed. Stiles became preoccupied with them, drawing randomly just to see the leaves popping up. When he stopped, something strange caught his attention.

There on the Tree’s membrane bark, he’d traced some kind of design. It was hard to see what it was exactly, the leaves moving and growing quickly, so he stepped away, hoping he could make it out before the leaves got so big the design was hidden. With a little distance, he could see it for what it was: three spirals, connecting in the middle. Simple and beautiful, it held his attention and a strange feeling stole over him.

“I know you,” Stiles mumbled, frowning, not understanding why he would have drawn such a thing. “I just can’t …” The reason was there at the back of his mind, but the more he tried to grasp it the more it seemed to fade away, just as the symbol did as the leaves finally covered it over and became one big mass of slowly moving foliage.

Stiles stared at the Tree. “I was doing something.” He looked around the grove.

A tugging sensation made him look down. Raising his arm in surprise, Stiles watched in shock as a cord-like thing appeared, winding around his wrist and stretching out in two different directions. One travelled down into the ground near the Nemeton stump, the other floated its way across the grove with no discernible end in sight. 

With almost no physical sensation to it, no weight, no texture and no color, the cord was freakishly odd. There was a strange warmth emanating from it though, and a slow pulsing beat. Looking at it gave Stiles the weirdest feeling; like he was missing something important.

He looked back at the leaves of the Tree, waving in the astral breeze. There was that feeling again, like he was forgetting something. It had something to do with the cord on his wrist. Stiles touched the cord, wondering. A sliver of thought came to him. “I was doing something.” 

A wind blew through the grove, making the outer trees creak as their branches brushed together. The air sparked along Stiles’ skin and he rubbed at his arms to get rid of the feeling, then shook out his hands. 

Frowning, something tugging at his mind, he looked at both hands, holding them up and turning them over. There’d been something on his wrist, hadn’t there? Just a second ago. Something …

The Nemeton’s leaves waved in the wind, catching his eye. Stiles’ mouth dropped open in awe.

“Wow, you’ve grown so much.” 

He stepped forward, reaching out to touch the strange see-through bark-like skin that was covering the Tree’s growth. It was cold and smooth and he could see shoots growing inside it, moving slowly as they stretched and formed, like a fetus in an amniotic sack.

Stiles smiled. “You’re so beautiful.”

A leaf sprouted under his palm, pushing through the membrane, and a tiny new shoot twined around his fingers.

***

Stiles stared up at the beams supporting the cellar roof. Over the years, the Nemeton roots had grown along the beams in places, pushing through hard packed dirt and coming back out at odd intervals, helping to support the cellar structure as surely as the beams did. There was an odd symmetry in that; live and dead wood, working together.

“Stiles! You’re awake!” Malia bent over him. “I lost your cord, it just sort of faded away in my hand. I couldn’t wake you.”

Malia’s words echoed in Stiles’ ears strangely. They felt liked they’d popped with a sudden change in atmospheric pressure. “What happened?” he whispered, swallowing with difficulty; his mouth so dry as to make his tongue stick down.

“Derek’s moving!”

It took a couple of seconds for Stiles to realize what Malia had said. “What?!” he croaked out. He struggled up on one elbow, ignoring the headache that bloomed across his brow. “Der?”

A small sound came from Derek, his lips parting and jaw working slowly.

Stiles’ heart started beating faster. “Open your eyes, my wolf, please.”

There was a flicker, a glimpse of cherished blue-green, then Derek’s eyes closed, a faint frown creasing his forehead. Stiles wanted to kiss it with a passion, so many conflicting emotions were swirling around in him.

“Derek?” he pressed. “Come on, wake up.”

“Give him some time, Stiles.” Lydia’s voice, quiet and pained, came from across the cellar.

Stiles looked over without moving, his head feeling like it was balanced precariously on his neck, the beat of his headache making him squint in discomfort.

Lydia was sitting on the floor, wrapped in one of Derek’s blankets. All that was visible was her pale face. “He’s been asleep for a long time and if he feels half as bad as I do, it’ll take him a while to wake up fully.”

Derek shifted, a twitch of shoulders, and Stiles leant over him. It wasn’t a good idea, pain making him drop his head gently onto Derek’s chest. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

“You’re sore, too,” Malia noted. She sounded distinctly pissed off. “Lydia woke up a while ago and she’s been resting ever since. You didn’t say astral projecting made you feel like this!”

“It doesn’t,” Stiles defended.

“Could have fooled me,” Cue spoke up. “You both look like hell. Count me out for learning that trick. It’s nasty.”

Huffing out an annoyed noise, Stiles hoped they’d take the hint and shut up.

Derek groaned again, and Stiles looked up slowly. There was barely any movement from his wolf but compared to the deathly stillness of the past week, every twitch was a miracle magnified a thousand times over. 

“I hate to say it, cause you look like shit, man, but Stiles, we gotta get going soon.”

Stiles flicked Cue a nasty look without moving. 

Cue held up his hands. “Dude, you brought us here, remember? We’ve got no other way of getting home and it’s getting dark. Also, it’s fucking freezing and only going to get worse. Not all of us are dressed for such weather.” To help make his point, Cue tipped his chin at Lydia. 

Seeing Lydia wrapped up in her blanket, a smidgen of guilt squiggled inside Stiles. She looked so cold and tired. Even a bit ill. “Lyds, you okay?”

Lydia nodded her head the tiniest bit. “I’ll be fine. I just can’t remember what happened.” She frowned over at Derek. “There’s a blank space in my memory.”

“I told her about the trance she was in,” Malia added. 

“Does everything feel cloudy when you try to remember?” Lydia asked. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t been there before the trance. 

Daring to move, Stiles sat up slowly. The ache in his head was a slow thumping behind his eyes, but there was no dizziness anymore and he was thankful for that. Trying to recall what had happened, he found he couldn’t. “I don’t think I even found you or Derek,” he confessed. “But I can’t remember.”

“I’d put money on you having had your memories wiped,” Cue chimed in.

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles scoffed.

“Think about it,” Cue said earnestly. “Neither of you can remember a thing! Does that normally happen when you do your freaky shit?”

Stiles had to concede, “No, it doesn’t.” 

“Then something or someone is messing with you.”

“It makes sense,” Malia agreed. “If you can normally remember but you can’t now.”

Lydia shifted in her blanket, making sure it covered everything including her feet. She must have been really cold. “That’s not enough to base a hypothesis on. It’s just conjecture and we can’t create belief on that alone.”

“We’ve done it in the past, more than once,” Malia pointed out. 

Standing slowly, Stiles supported himself with one hand holding onto a beam above his head. “If you want to go home we have to do it before it gets dark.” He didn’t like the idea of someone messing with his memories, he was having a hard enough time remembering things as it was. 

“Stiles, —” Lydia shifted up on her knees, keeping her blanket close around her.

“Do you want to spend the night here?” he interrupted.

“No.”

“Then come on.” Stiles walked up the cellar stairs with more confidence than he felt, not wanting to leave Derek for a second but needing the others gone. 

When they were all up in the grove, Stiles looked at the sky noting how close to dusk it was. They had only minutes before the sunlight would be gone. He held out his arm and Malia, Lydia and Cue placed their hands on him.

A second later they were standing in Stiles’ backyard. The snow was hard and icy under their feet and Cue slipped, grabbing onto Malia for balance. The sun dipped below the tree line, leaving them standing in the pale light of dusk. 

Stiles readied himself to jump to the Nemeton, glad he could do it even in the dark. No way did he want Derek waking up alone.

“Stiles.” Lydia stopped him. “We’ll let everyone know about Derek. I’m going to call you in the morning and you’d better answer.”

The command did not sit well on Stiles. “And if I don’t?” 

The look in Lydia’s eye was not one Stiles wanted directed at him. “I was instrumental in waking Derek,” she said. “Even if we can’t remember it, I can feel it and I bet you can, too. You’re in my debt and I’m calling you on it. As you don’t want to answer a simple phone call, I’m requesting that you come back here tomorrow morning with Derek.”

Stiles scowled. Being in someone’s debt wasn’t something he liked, not as a human and even less as a fae. He found it impossible to refuse without feeling in his bones he was doing something against his very nature. Lydia watched him knowingly as he tried to figure a way out of doing what she wanted. 

Not finding it, Stiles threw up his hands. “Fine! But I’ll only bring Derek if he’s up to it.” Lydia went to object and Stiles snarled at her, his eyes taking on fae sight. “This favor is owed by me. Not Derek. He’ll come, but only if he chooses to. Not because you will it.” 

Lydia blinked, realizing too late what she’d done. “Stiles, I didn’t mean —”

“But you did.” Stiles took another step back. He was pretty certain his eyes were reflecting like a cat’s in the light from the back porch. He hoped it made them remember who he was, what he was capable of. “I thank you, Lydia Martin,” he began formally, Lydia blanching at his tone, “for waking Derek Hale. I will be here tomorrow morning at your behest. At the conclusion of the favor I owe, you will demand nothing more of me.”

Lydia looked perfectly regretful but Stiles didn’t care. One minute she was proclaiming friendship, the next she was using debts to control him. He’d been smart to be wary of her even though she’d helped.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Lydia hitched her blanket closer. “I just don’t want you to hide away from us.”

Giving Lydia one last resentful glare, Stiles leapt away, using the connection between himself and the Tree to pull him to the grove. He bowed his head when he arrived, feeling all sorts of off-kilter, but as he walked down the cellar stairs he began to feel better, excitement pushing him along by the time he got to the bottom.

“Derek?” 

He was rewarded with Derek opening his eyes and frowning at the cellar roof. When he finally looked over at Stiles, it felt like a hot brand scorching Stiles from the inside out. He rushed over, dropping down carefully near Derek’s side.

“Der?” he whispered, running a hand over the scraggy beard that had grown while Derek slept. 

Derek blinked, frowned some more and opened his mouth before swallowing hard and wincing. 

“Oh! Wait a sec.” Stiles leant over him and rummaged for a water bottle on the other side of the mattress. “Here, drink this.” He held the bottle to Derek’s lips.

Derek took a few sips, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ face. He squirmed a bit and Stiles pulled the blankets down, freeing him from his cocoon. 

Stiles smiled down at Derek, overwhelmed by the fact his wolf was looking back. A shaky hand came up to rest against his cheek. Stiles held it close, pressing it to his face and relaxing under the touch before turning his head and kissing Derek’s palm. There was a sigh, a small exhale, and Derek’s frown deepened. That wouldn’t do. Stiles gently smoothed his fingertips over the skin between Derek’s brows. 

“Everything’s fine,” he explained. “You’ve been asleep for a bit but you’re awake now.”

Derek didn’t look totally convinced. “Sti-les,” he breathed out. It was the most wonderful sound Stiles had ever heard. 

Still frowning, Derek curled a thumb under Stiles’ eye, making Stiles pause. Did he look as wrung out as he felt? Was Derek picking up on his chemo signals? He didn’t want Derek worrying about him, not so soon after waking up. He blinked back the tears that had been forming. His wolf didn’t need to know just how hard things had been. 

“I’m okay,” he said, trying to sound it. “Don’t worry. This is about you getting better. You’re probably feeling all sorts of strange so we’ll take it slow, okay? Go at your pace.”

Derek nodded the tiniest bit then let his gaze wander to their surroundings. He made a questioning sound.

“We’re in the Nemeton cellar,” Stiles explained. 

Derek grunted in surprise.

“We’re safe here. You’re safe here,” Stiles told him. “No one can find us.” Placing another kiss on the hand he was still holding, he then lowered it to his lap. “I’ll explain everything if you’d like?”

Derek nodded, but his eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out into a normal restful sleep. 

Stiles smiled. “We can go over everything later.” He curled up beside Derek, hugging him. The sigh Derek produced in response made Stiles feel unimaginably lucky and he kissed the side of Derek’s face, snuggling closer. 

As he waited for Derek to wake up properly, he couldn’t help but think about the fact Derek could have died. Slowly, the relief Stiles felt began to turn to anger, the anger building until he was practically vibrating with suppressed rage. It must have disturbed Derek, because he snuffled around, turning slowly onto his side and wrapping a clumsy arm over Stiles’ middle. 

Stiles lay there, not daring to move. Tears welled up again and his rage dimmed. Pressing closer to Derek, he breathed in his scent as Derek’s arm tightened around him. The little bit of anger still left was lulled by the smell of forest and wolf but before he fell asleep, Stiles promised himself that Ramona would suffer greatly before she died.

***

As the sun came up, Stiles woke. Snow flakes were gently floating into the cellar from the open door. Content in a way he hadn’t been in a long while, he watched them drift down, silent and soft, to cover the stairs with a frosting of white. Then he remembered why he felt as he did.

Stiles turned quickly onto his side, jostling the blow-up mattress, and was met with Derek watching him with a fond smile.

“Hi,” Derek said, sounding much better than he had the night before. He was leaning up on one elbow, his hand on Stiles’ hip.

“Hi,” Stiles replied a bit breathlessly, still struck by the idea of Derek being awake. “You’ve been watching me sleep? Why didn’t you wake me?”

Derek shrugged, his thumb smoothing across skin where Stiles’ shirt had ridden up. The touch made Stiles shudder and Derek’s smile grew. “You needed it,” he replied then paused, his smile faltering. 

Stiles propped himself up, concern dampening some of the joy he was feeling. “What’s wrong?”

Derek held up his phone. Stiles eyed it like it may bite him. 

“It woke me up and I found it in your pants,” Derek explained. “You were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t even stir. Scott’s been getting me up to speed on everything.”

Stiles scowled.

“Don’t worry,” Derek soothed. “He just told me the basics. Ramona, the poison-cure, that’s about it. But I’m betting there’s a lot that’s happened which he has no idea about, am I right?”

Stiles pulled a face. “Maybe.” He hadn’t thought through what he would tell Derek. Killing a couple of deer was one thing, but people? 

“Why are we here, Stiles? You said it was so we were safe. Safe from Ramona?”

Stiles sat up properly, Derek following. 

“We didn’t know she was there, Derek. She came right up to our house and got the drop on us both. She almost killed you. I couldn’t leave you there for her to come back and try again. Then Argent put people on your land, and I didn’t trust them to look out for us. And Dad had all these expectations of me, and Scott wouldn’t stop getting in the way, and I just couldn’t …” Stiles took a deep breath. “This is the only place I know no one can get to us. You were completely safe here. I had to protect you.”

Derek nodded. “I’ll speak to Chris about getting his people to leave, I don’t like the idea of strangers any more than you do. I don’t know how Ramona snuck up on us, but we can make it harder for her to do so again.” Taking hold of one of Stiles’ hands, Derek pressed his lips to the knuckles softly; his gaze and the feel of his kiss making Stiles’ breath catch. “You did really well,” Derek told him.

Stiles shifted closer. “I knew you’d understand.”

“They give you a hard time about it?” There was the concern Stiles had become so accustomed to, flowing out of Derek as easy as breathing.

“It was just more of the same old shtick,” Stiles told him. “You’re not well, Stiles. You can’t do this on your own, Stiles. We know better than you, Stiles.” He didn’t bother hiding how tired he was with it all.

Derek ran a hand down his arm. “I only woke up because of you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Stiles refuted. “I don’t even remember it. Lydia brought you back, not me.”

Derek took hold of his shoulders. “Stiles, don’t sell yourself short. You kept me safe, you didn’t give up. Maybe you didn’t know for sure it would work, but you had a pretty good idea Lydia was the way out for me, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t a fully formed idea, more of an inkling,” Stiles insisted.

“Your ‘inklings’ have helped me more than once,” Derek pointed out. “I trust them.”

Swallowing against a hard lump in his throat, Stiles admitted, “I missed you so much.”

Derek’s eyes had a shine to them. “I know. You’ve handled everything so well,” he repeated.

Stiles shook his head. “No, I really didn’t.”

“I didn’t just talk to Scott, Stiles. I spoke to your dad, and Malia and Lydia.”

Stiles huffed in surprise. “How long have you been awake? And why were they? It’s just barely sun-up, surely I wasn’t the only one sleeping.”

“I’m guessing it’s because they’re worried about you.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles scoffed, but without any heat behind it; his skepticism tempered with the joy he felt from Derek being awake. “They were worried about you.”

Derek shook his head, smiling gently. “And you. You may doubt what they feel, but I know the truth. You’ll see it eventually.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Nothing to see.” 

Anything else he was going to say was halted by Derek kissing him.

Stiles stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.

Derek pulled away just enough to say, “I missed you too. I know I did, even if I can’t remember. I know it.”

Pulling Derek into another kiss, Stiles fell back on the mattress, Derek coming with him. The weight of Derek’s body felt so good, so right. Stiles bucked up, grabbing and rubbing and whining in a desperate manner that should have made him embarrassed, but which only heightened the fact they were still wearing clothes.

“Shh, Stiles, take it slow,” Derek whispered into his mouth. “I’m not a hundred percent.”

Stiles stopped moving instantly. “You okay?”

“I am. Just a bit tired still,” Derek said, as his stomach rumbled loudly. “And hungry enough to eat a whole cow.”

It was testament to how good Stiles was feeling that he joked, “I could get you a deer.” Smiling cheekily, he shifted on the mattress, putting his arms up above his head. One at a time, he wrapped both legs around Derek’s hips. “You want to eat now, or do something else?”

“I definitely want to do something else,” Derek replied, stooping down towards Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles’ smile got wider. But before he could get the kiss he was angling for, Derek’s stomach rumbled again, louder than before. 

Derek pulled a face. “I hate to say it, but I think food needs to come first. I don’t want to pass out on you.”

“Not from hunger anyway,” Stiles agreed, reluctantly unwinding his legs. 

“I need a shower, too,” Derek added, sitting back and sniffing at himself. “I stink.”

“You smell fine to me.” Stiles sat up and crawled over him, kissing up his neck and taking a huge breath in. “Like forest and wolf and magic. It’s perfect.” He nibbled on Derek’s jaw. “My wolf.”

“Magic?”

“Hmmm?” Stiles mumbled, nosing under Derek’s ear.

Derek held him back by a shoulder. “I smell like magic? Since when?”

Stiles kept trying to get his mouth on Derek’s collarbone. “You’re a shape-changer, Der, magic should be expected.” When Derek just gave him a telling look, Stiles added, “Okay, it’s different than that, but why’s it matter?”

“What kind of magic, Stiles? This is important.”

Stiles sat back scowling. “Why?”

“Lydia mentioned neither of you can remember what she did to bring me back. I can’t remember, either. Now tell me, what does the magic smell like? You said once that different magics have their own feel to them. Do they smell different, too?”

Stiles shrugged and shifted on the mattress, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Stiles!” Derek barked, making Stiles flinch. “I’m sorry, but we need to talk about this. There’s something I’m almost remembering but it goes away as soon as I try to put it into words. The magic might be connected to it. So, please, tell me what it smells like.”

A bad feeling rose in Stiles, making him uncomfortable. Derek pulled him into his arms, holding him tight and stilling the rocking Stiles hadn’t realized he’d started. 

“You can do this,” Derek told him gently. “Don’t over-think it, just let the words come. Take a deep breath and tell me.”

Stiles did as was asked. With Derek’s scent in his nose, he whispered into Derek’s shoulder, “You smell like wind, rain, lightning. Like all things wild and untamed. The growing of things down deep in the earth, the light of the sun heating the spark in every living thing. You smell like the moon.” Stiles shivered under the admission.

“I smell like the fae,” Derek said with a kind of flat realization, squeezing Stiles so tightly if he’d still been human he would have complained.

As it wasn’t a question, Stiles didn’t have to answer it. “I can’t,” he began, not able to explain further.

“It’s alright, shhh, it’s alright,” Derek soothed. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

Stiles lay heavily in Derek’s arms, sinking into warm supportive muscle and trying to live in the moment where everything was perfect because it was just the two of them.

“Lydia told me about the favor she asked of you,” Derek confessed, and Stiles stiffened. Derek ran his hands up under the back of Stiles’ shirt, less a sexual move than one of comfort. “Shhh. We’ll go see her. As much as I like being here with you, the grove is lacking in amenities. I’m hungry and dirty and I need to brush my teeth before the film on them glues my mouth permanently shut.”

“You didn’t hear me complaining,” Stiles commented, wanting to stay.

Derek rubbed his nose into Stiles’ hair. “That’s because we’ve been separated and we’re finally back together. Bad breath gets overlooked.”

“Halitosis hall pass?”

“That’s right,” Derek chuckled. “Now let’s go.”

“Why am I the one being comforted?” Stiles complained as Derek pulled him to his feet. “You’re the one who’s just woken up from six days of poisoned sleep.” 

“Exactly, I was asleep. You had to shoulder everything on your own,” Derek said. “It’s okay to need a moment.”

***

When Stiles and Derek arrived at the house, they’d already made a side trip to the cabin. Freshly showered and fed, Derek being happily surprised when Stiles ate without a fuss, they stood in the bushes at the back of the yard, hidden behind the trees.

“This is just so everyone can see we’re both okay,” Derek reminded Stiles, squeezing his hand.

“That you’re okay,” Stiles corrected.

Derek’s sigh was so quiet, Stiles almost missed it.

They started walking through the yard and had just reached the porch when the backdoor opened and Malia poked her head out. “About time. Get in here,” she ordered, the door already swinging shut before she’d finished talking.

Stiles looked at Derek, trying to convey just how much he didn’t want to be there. “Can’t we just leave? Technically, I’ve done what Lydia requested from me. She only said I had to turn up. Which I’ve done. We can go now.”

“That’s not what she meant and you know it.”

“I know no such thing,” Stiles answered petulantly. “If she’s going to use my being fae to order me around, she should be more specific.”

“What about your dad, doesn’t he deserve to see you?”

Stiles gave Derek a baleful look. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m trying to keep your relationship with your dad intact,” Derek told him flatly. “Because when all this is over, and I have to believe it will be soon, you’re going to need him.”

“I’ll need you.”

“You have me.” Derek offered Stiles his hand. “Quid pro quo, right? That’s the fae way, or so it seems. You don’t get something for nothing. So give your dad your time if nothing else. Then he’ll owe you.”

It was a fair enough point but Stiles wasn’t convinced. “He didn’t support me when I took you away to keep you safe.”

“He didn’t agree with you, support had nothing to do with it.”

Stiles wasn’t going to fold so easily. “I just don’t want to be here.”

Derek took Stiles’ face in his hands. Immediately a feeling of safety washed over Stiles and he leant into it. “You love your dad, right?”

Stiles nodded.

“And you know he loves you.”

Another nod.

“But you don’t want to see him?”

“I do want to see him,” Stiles corrected. “But it doesn’t feel right being here, talking to him.”

Derek’s expression was tight but his hands remained gentle, his tone soft. “While I was sleeping did you see the fae?”

“Yes.”

“What did it —” Derek stopped. He spoke very slowly as if weighing his words when he asked, “How did you spend your time while I was sleeping?”

“I was healing the Tree,” Stiles replied, wondering at the turn in conversation.

“Was the fae with you when you did that?”

“Most of the time,” Stiles admitted, curious at the pained look that crossed Derek’s face. When Derek dropped his hands, Stiles blinked, pressing his fingers to his temples as a slight pain made itself known. 

“Do you have a headache?” Derek asked. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Not your fault. It’ll go soon,” Stiles insisted, the discomfort already diminishing.

“You been getting a lot of headaches recently?”

“On and off.” Stiles waved away Derek’s concern. “I’m just tired.” Derek didn’t look convinced, but Stiles didn’t want to stay around to convince him. “Can I go now?”

“You really don’t want to do this?”

Stiles tried not to let too much of his frustration show. “No. I do not.”

“Would you, if I asked you to?” Derek persisted. 

“Yes,” Stiles admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat as he wished Derek hadn’t played that card. A kiss on his forehead surprised him and he looked up at Derek. 

“I love you,” Derek told him.

“I love you too.” Stiles fingered the hem of Derek’s shirt, hand slipping underneath and tracing along the skin just above Derek’s jeans. “Please, let me go.”

“Okay.” Derek kissed him again. “Let’s go.”

Stiles pressed his palm into Derek’s stomach. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “They want to see you. You should stay. Just be careful, be safe.”

“You sure?”

Eyeing the back door, Stiles could see the handle was turning. “No, but do it anyway.” He gave Derek a quick peck on the lips then ran through the yard, down to the trees and bushes at the boundary. 

Stopping and turning, he watched his dad hug Derek on the back porch. His dad then caught sight of him and Stiles was sure he was going to call out. But he paused, listening to something Derek was telling him, and all he did was raise a hand in hello.

Loving Derek so much in that moment, Stiles held up a hand in return. Then he slipped through the bushes past the house line and down the fire embankment, ran across the ugly scar of cleared land and jumped up into the aspen forest.

The trees creaked slowly above him; voices he was bared from understanding. Stiles breathed in their snow-damp smell and tried not to dwell on what he was missing.

“Your wolf is awake.”

Stiles jolted in surprise as the fae stepped up beside him. It was looking in the direction he’d just come from, a slight frown on its face.

The thought of Derek made Stiles’ heart feel light. “Yeah. I was so worried, but he’s okay.”

The fae eyed Stiles silently before turing its back on the edge of the forest. “We are loathe to admit we have yet again underestimated. Time was, we were unable to make such mistakes. Time as is, sees us making more and more. The Summation comes and we find ourselves unable to provide all that is needed. You, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, our changeling fae, will fix our miscalculations.”

Stiles heart sank with yet another thing the fae expected of him. But it was for the good of the Tree so in the end it would help them all. “What do I need to do?”

“You must call them. Those who were lost. They must return.”

Making a face, Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to explain that a bit more, just so I actually know how to achieve what I’m supposed to be doing? It’s a novel approach, I agree, but it could work.”

“The Tree lost so much.” The fae cupped its hands together, then separated them. “Call them home. Only you can do it.”

Stiles thought he understood. “The Nemeton wood?”

“Before the moon is full,” the fae added.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Stiles agreed, like there had been any other option. “But the pieces won’t be enough to heal the Tree, not on their own. I’ve already figured that much.”

“Call the ones with druid masters. Pulled by the wood they possess, the druids will be as much a slave to their desire for power as the wood is to them.”

Stiles thought he saw what the fae was getting at. “The druids who have Nemeton wood will think they’re being called for some sort of druid meeting?”

The fae nodded. “Then the Summation will consume them.”

“There’s just one problem,” Stiles pointed out. “I’ve got some things that I think can call the Nemeton wood, but I don’t know how to use them to do it. Do you?” 

“We are unable to provide assistance. The calling is druidic, we are not.”

“I’m not a druid, either.”

The fae gave Stiles a sly look. “You know of one.”

Screwing up his face, Stiles made a noise of disgust. “You want me to get help from Deaton?”

“Help from. Use of. Terms are variable and interchangeable. Do what needs must.”

Stiles was unsettled. “If there’s no other way, I’ll do it.”

“There is no other way,” the fae told him.

“Fine,” Stiles capitulated, sighing in defeat. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

The fae tipped its head. “We know.”

***

Back at his house under the tree line, Stiles chewed on his lips. He may have told the fae not to worry but that didn’t stop him from doing so. He wanted to use the Nemeton Spheres to call the druids, but getting them to work hinged on Scott and Deaton; the two people he had the biggest issues with. Somehow he had to get their help without them becoming wise to the full extent of what he was trying to accomplish. 

It would be easier to do if he could get Scott by himself. Of course, thanks to Lydia, he was with Derek instead of at his own place where it would have been so much easier to catch him alone. Stiles was going to have to resort to sneaking and while he had heaps of practice and enjoyed doing it, it didn’t feel right while Derek was there. It was one thing to omit certain truths from his wolf, it was quite another to actively work at it.

With misgivings, but not wanting to wait the hours it could take for Scott to leave, Stiles pulled illusions around himself and flitted through the yard, round the side of the house to his bedroom. A peek inside confirmed no one was there so he pushed open the window and slipped over the sill, silently treading across the rug. The door was ajar and he cocked his head to listen to the murmur of voices he could hear.

Slinking down the hallway, Stiles took a glance into the living room. Malia and Lydia were there with his dad, Derek, Cue and Scott. The only ones missing were Mason and Liam, which Stiles was thankful for. As he watched, he could see how happy everyone was to be with each other. It was in their smiles and the way they talked to each other. Stamping down on a strange niggle of jealousy, Stiles fisted his hand against the wall.

No one had noticed him being there, not even Derek. He was in a deep conversation with Stiles’ dad and didn’t even look up when Scott offered to get him a drink along with everyone else, instead just waving Scott away.

When Scott wondered into the kitchen, Stiles took his chance and swept back down the hallway, past his bedroom and the bathroom to the back of the house. Stopping in the back entranceway near the kitchen, he dropped his illusion of invisibility and poked his head around the wall.

With a bottle of soda in hand, Scott turned from the fridge, eyes widening in surprise as he caught sight of Stiles. Putting the soda down on the table he took a step forward, opening his mouth to talk.

With a finger to his lips, Stiles motioned for Scott to stay quiet, then making a ‘come with me’ gesture he tried to express how quickly he wanted Scott to move. He didn’t want to be in the house any longer than necessary. 

Scott frowned, then pointed into the living room, mouthing ‘Derek?’ 

With wide eyes, Stiles shook his head.

Taking a second to think it over, Scott then nodded and held up his hand, silently asking Stiles to wait as he got out his phone. Stiles understood a second too late and waved an arm somewhat manically, trying to get him to stop as Scott walked into the living room. 

“I’ve gotta go, guys, sorry,” Scott said, and Stiles silently palmed his face. “Mom’s left her handbag at home again. I’m going to drop it off to her.” 

After the group expressed their disappointment, Scott came back into the kitchen, smiling at Stiles with his dopily proud face and ignoring Stiles’ equally annoyed one. He pointed at himself then the front door. Then he pointed at Stiles and made a circular motion, ending at the front of the house once more. 

Stiles got it. Scott assumed he’d sneak out the back while Scott would use the front door. They’d meet outside. Stiles shrugged then nodded, it was easier than explaining with bad sign language how he could walk out with Scott while invisible.

When Scott walked down the back hallway, Stiles slipped on his illusions and followed. He wasn’t letting Scott out of his sight long enough to tell someone what was going on. 

Derek stood in the front entranceway, arms folded across his chest. “Everything okay, Scott?”

Stiles held his breath. Great. This was exactly why he’d wanted Scott to just leave with him.

Scott nodded. “Yep, Mom’s always doing this. I’ll see you guys later.” He opened the front door and went to step outside. 

“Wait a second, I’ve got to give you something.” Derek pointed to Stiles’ bedroom.

Scott looked indecisive, scanning outside, but nodded when he didn’t see Stiles. “Okay.” He headed down the hallway.

Derek shut the door at the same time he reached out, managing to snag Stiles’ arm before he could slip away. Stiles froze but Derek kept moving, pushing him back from the door, down the hallway into his bedroom. Stiles let himself be maneuvered, knowing it would be futile to struggle and only end up alerting everyone else to him being there. 

Shoving the door closed with his foot and not letting go of Stiles for one second, Derek leant in and whispered harshly into Stiles’ ear, “What the hell are you pulling with Scott?”

Stiles dropped his illusions, snarking back quietly, “Nothing!” 

“Bullshit.” Derek let him go.

Scott gave an insulted kind of noise, looking unimpressed when he got over his shock at seeing Stiles appear. “You don’t need my help?”

“I do!” Stiles gave up on keeping things quiet. Malia would have heard everything, he just hopped she had enough sense not to alert his dad. “I need your help with Deaton.”

“Oh,” Scott said, understanding dawning.

“What did you do?” Derek asked Stiles, looking between them. “Something happened.”

Stiles scratched the side of his nose. “I need information from him. He won’t want to help me on his own but I’m hoping with Scott there he’ll at least listen without trying to have me arrested.”

“Arrested?” 

Not wanting to go into it but having no choice, Stiles really hoped Malia didn’t relay this next part to his dad. “I put Deaton in the hospital.”

Derek growled low in exasperation. “I know you’ve had your differences but that’s only going to get you in trouble! What if your dad finds out?” 

“He won’t,” Scott explained, coming to Stiles’ rescue. “Deaton’s keeping quiet. You were right, Stiles, Deaton agreed he owed you. I’m sorry I didn’t get it before.”

Stiles looked at him skeptically. “But you do now?”

“I don’t like that you attacked him, but yeah, I understand things a lot better. What information do you need?” 

“Uh,” Stiles shot Derek a look. Being caught and the resultant guilt he was trying hard not to feel was muddling him up.

Derek’s eyebrows rose in a vastly unimpressed way. He gestured for Stiles to answer, daring him to lie.

Stiles was in an awkward position. Manipulation and lying were out the window which is where he could be if he decided to just leave, but he’d still have to go see Deaton and he really did need Scott’s help with that. And he’d have to explain himself to Derek later on, no matter what. 

“Just tell me. I’ll help,” Scott said.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffed, unable to hide his disbelief even though help was exactly what he required Scott to give. 

“Try me.” 

Running a hand along the back of his neck, Stiles admitted, “I need to learn how to use the spheres to call the Nemeton wood back in order to heal the Tree.”

“Not this again,” Derek groaned. 

“Yes, this again,” Stiles retorted. “Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I let it go. This is important!”

“Why?” Scott asked. “Not judging here,” he added when Stiles glared at him. “Just explain it to me.”

Stiles was hard pressed not to roll his eyes and fling up his hands. It hadn’t gone well when he’d explained his reasoning to Derek and he knew it wouldn’t go well this time either. Maybe if he kept it simple, Scott would understand and make the right decision. “The Tree has dirty magic. Getting back the Nemeton wood that was taken by the druids when they cut it down would help clean the magic and bring back balance.”

Scott nodded, a look of determination on his face. “Okay. A clean, healthy Nemeton. Sounds beneficial for the whole of Beacon Hills. And Deaton knows how to achieve this?”

Stiles shrugged evasively. “I need to talk to him about it.” He had to hope Deaton wouldn’t know calling the wood would bring the druids back. “I’m surprised you’re even considering this."

“I can see the need,” Scott explained, not seemingly insulted by Stiles’ lack of faith in him. If anything, he seemed pleased to be consulted. “I’ve been connected to the Nemeton too, remember? Nothing like you, but I was touched by the dark in it. Whatever I can do to help clean that up, I’ll do.”

Stunned by Scott’s surprisingly sound reasoning, Stiles didn’t know what to say. 

Scott indicated towards the door with his chin. “Let’s go.”

Derek took hold of Stiles’ hand, waylaying him. Stiles didn’t need his fox ability to know Derek was disturbed by Scott’s willingness to help. Stiles didn’t want him to feel like that but if it meant healing the Tree, he could deal with a bit of disgruntlement. When the Tree was healed, Derek would come round. The evidence would be right in front of him that it had all been for the greater good.

Scott clapped Stiles on the shoulder. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, and closed the door behind him. 

Breaking the silence that settled into the room, Stiles said, “It’ll be okay, Der.”

Derek nodded slightly, frowning down at the floor. “I hope so.”

Stiles moved into Derek’s personal space, their breath mingling as their noses touched. “I’ve got Scott helping me. Just like old times. What could go wrong?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Derek snorted, then admitted, “I don’t like it. And I don’t like how you felt you had to keep it from me.”

“I didn’t want to.” Stiles dared to kiss him, half-expecting Derek to pull away.

“If Deaton tries anything,” Derek threatened, his eyes dark and promising, “if he tries to get you arrested, I’ll maul him.”

Stiles kissed him again, this time a little more aggressively, whispering against Derek’s lips, “I love it when you go all wolf on me.”

Derek made a sound like he was drying and crushed Stiles to him. 

When he was in danger of forgetting what he had to do and the bed was looking more and more appealing, Stiles wriggled out from Derek’s grasp. He climbed out the window and onto the ground.

“Stiles.” 

Turning around, Stiles looked back at Derek. His wolf stared at him, eyes conveying so much without saying a word, then Derek smiled his sweet smile, the one that only came out when it was just the two of them together. 

Giving a little wave, Stiles went round to the front of the house. Not seeing Scott’s car in the driveway, he ran down to the street, finding Scott parked and waiting for him a little way up the road. He knocked on the roof before climbing in.

Scott gave him a withering once over. “Really? I’m waiting here and you’re getting some?”

Stiles grinned, feeling all sorts of good. This was working out better than he’d expected. “I seem to remember when the positions were reversed, Scotty boy.” 

They shared a quick remembering glance, then Stiles drummed on the dashboard with both hands. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Scott gave a bark of laughter and started his mom’s car. “Batman and Robin ride again.”

“I’m Batman for sure this time,” Stiles proclaimed. 

Scott just smiled. He drove them onto the main road and was about to take the turn that would lead to Deaton’s house when Stiles spoke up.

“This is when I tell you we need to head into the aspen forest out the back of my house.”

Doing a double take, Scott gave Stiles an incredulous look. “You lied?? God, Stiles, why?” He started to turn the car around. 

“I didn’t lie.” Stiles motioned for Scott to turn down a side street that dead-ended at the aspen forest main public entrance. He hadn’t used it in years. “I forgot I needed to do something before coming to get you and I’ve just remembered.”

Scott side-eyed him as he parked his mom’s car.

“Alright, so we’re not in a good place, you and me,” Stiles said, stating the obvious. “But needs must and I have to take you with me to see Deaton. Scott, I’m trusting you. This, right now, is a priority and requires secrecy. I’ll meet you at Deaton’s if you can’t give me that.”

“You could do whatever this is without me?”

“Yes.”

Scott fiddled with his seat belt, frowning. “With how you’ve been lately I have to ask, are you setting me up?”

“No!”

“It’s just weird you’re asking me to go with you when you don’t need me to.” Scott turned his shoulder into the carseat, facing Stiles. “So, why?”

Stiles was about to argue that they were wasting time, but paused. The furious anger he normally felt around Scott was strangely absent and he had no idea why. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said out loud, shocking them both. Groaning, he ran a hand over his face, utterly confused. “Just go with it, okay? It’s weird, but I want you to come with me.”

Scott gave Stiles a long considering look before staring out the car front window at the aspen forest entrance sign. “Yeah, okay,” he finally said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

***

They moved at a good pace through the aspen forest, following the circular trail that would eventually pass by Stiles’ house though that wasn’t where they were going. The storms hadn’t fallen as heavily where they were and the trail was wet instead of snow covered. Stiles liked the sound of his feet and Scott’s boots thudding on the ground as they jogged, the smell of water in the air and the feel of it on his skin.

He veered off the trail long before they were anywhere near his house, Scott following along without question. Something, perhaps Stiles’ confession back in the car, had pushed him into silence. Stiles couldn’t blame him for falling quiet, though he doubted they were thinking about the same things. With the discovery he actually wanted to hang with Scott had come the realization he wouldn’t be able to ignore a particular problem any longer. It tied into everything; Scott, his dad, the pack. Derek. Everyone was affected by it. He’d just been too stubborn to face the reality. Too scared.

They came to a stop in the middle of the aspen forest where the trees grew thicker than anywhere else. They were so close together Stiles and Scott stepped through sideways in places, brushing up against the trunks as they passed. After a few minutes, the trees opened up into a part of the forest that looked relatively the same as hundreds of other parts, which was why Stiles had chosen it. It was far enough from any path that no one went there and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t decide to dig over two feet down through frozen ground.

“What are we doing here?” Scott asked quietly.

Stiles moved over to a fallen tree and began shifting the loose branches away, dragging a particularly large one by using his fae strength. “Help me out, Scott.”

They worked for a time, moving branches, neither one speaking. When the trunk was clear, Stiles rolled its considerable length sideways along the ground.

Scott blew out an explosive breath. “Stiles, come on, what are we doing?” 

“We’re digging,” Stiles replied. He could answer in more detail but it was fun to watch Scott’s frustration levels rise.

“With what?” Scott made a point of looking around at the trees.

“With your wolfy claws. Right here.” Stiles tapped his toes on the soil where the aspen had been.

“What for?”

Stiles shrugged, smiling in an amicable way that was anything but. This particular smile had annoyed Scott even before the supernatural changed their lives, and Stiles kind of loved the fact it still did. “If you really want to know, you have to dig.”

Scott gave him a flat look but flicked out his claws. He bent down to the ground, one knee in the dirt. “You brought me here for manual labor,” he groused. 

He was about to start digging into the hard earth when Stiles chuckled. “Stop, stop, Scott. I’m playing with you, get up.”

Scott scowled. “Am I here just for you to laugh at?”

Stiles sobered immediately. “No. This is no game.”

Stepping over the fallen aspen tree, Scott sat on its trunk. “I’m all ears if you’re ready to tell me what it is about.”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his head, creating snarls in his hair. He’d come to a decision while jogging; he was going to trust Scott with his frightening realization. It was an incredibly bad idea to trust him, of all people. But Stiles needed to believe that having someone know was the best thing, even if that person was Scott. 

“Stiles, is everything alright?” Scott shifted where he sat and Stiles put out a hand, stopping him from getting up.

“No, it’s not. It really isn’t okay at all. But you need to stay where you are and let me explain while I’m still able to understand it myself.” Stiles turned in place, starting to pace. Everything was so intertwined in his head he couldn’t figure out where to start.

“You don’t have to start at the beginning,” Scott advised. “Just say the first thing you think of. The rest will come if you let it.”

Stiles looked at Scott. “Was I talking out loud?” 

“No.” Scott shrugged with one shoulder. “I just know what this means.” He indicated towards Stiles’ pacing. “You want to say everything all at once.”

“I can control sunlight,” Stiles blurted out, stopping where he was. 

“Huh.” Scott blinked, eyes wide. “That’s awesome.”

Stiles shook his head. “That wasn’t what I wanted to tell you.”

Scott watched Stiles with an inscrutable expression.

“Every time I see you, I want to hurt you,” Stiles got out. 

Scott snorted. “Well, you mostly succeed, if that makes you feel any better.”

Stiles glared at him. He couldn’t say what he needed to if he was going to be interrupted. “But I don’t hate you right now,” he said, almost accusingly. “The anger’s gone. Annoyance is still there, but the anger isn’t.”

“That’s a good thing,” Scott said.

“Don’t get your hopes up, it won’t last.” Stiles waved a hand between the two of them. “This won’t last. I will hate you again. If I thought about it, I could make it come back just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s sitting right here,” he indicated his chest, “but for some reason at the moment, you get a reprieve.”

“Maybe because you need my help with Deaton?”

Stiles didn’t think so. This was so irritatingly difficult. He could feel his headache coming back. He reached out and touched one of the aspens. “While the anger isn’t here I can see things more clearly. Everyone is right; I’m sick. I can admit it today. Tomorrow I won’t.”

“Maybe you will?”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “Mom was the same. Sometimes she knew she was ill, sometimes she didn’t.”

“You don’t have what your mom did.” Scott was very sure.

“I know. Call it what you want: PTSD, mental illness, stress-related issues, all of the above and more, it all boils down to me being sick.”

“Have you spoken to Derek about this? You need to.”

“I need to talk now, while I can,” Stiles explained. “I think Derek and I may have talked about it, but I can’t really remember. Mom suffered from memory loss too. She forgot who I was at the end.”

With a look of shock, Scott asked carefully, “Stiles … do you forget people?”

“No. I don’t think so. How would I know if I did? She didn’t.”

“I think you need to stop comparing yourself to your mom.”

Stiles looked over at Scott. “I’m going crazy.”

There, he’d said it. The scary truth that had been building inside of him. Dealing with all the shit he’d gone through was never going to leave him anything but unstable. The cracks were widening and for some reason, whether it was the relief of Derek waking up or something else entirely, today he could see them. More than that, he could tell someone.

His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his temples. It was making his headache worse. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I had to tell you. Someone had to know.”

“I don’t think —” Scott began, then stopped. He got up and walked over, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “We’ll work this out. We’ll fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix. It is what it is.”

“We never let anything get the better of us.” Scott’s fingers dug in. “You don’t give up. You never give up. Don’t start now.”

Stiles could feel tears coming and blinked furiously. “I can’t fight this. I’m angry all the time. And I’m forgetting, Scott. I know there’s so much I can’t remember. I don’t know how I know, I just do.” He held his forehead. The ache was too much, he couldn’t keep going.

Scott gently pulled him into a hug he didn’t resist. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, bro. If you can remember one thing, remember this: You are not alone. We’re doing our best to help you.”

Stiles had to back off from the hug. Scott being so close made him edgy and he felt all sorts of awkward now.

Eyes shining suspiciously, Scott smiled. It was as if he was feeling physical pain but hiding it was of the utmost importance. 

Stiles didn’t understand Scott at all.

Turning to look at the ground, Scott asked, “So, is digging still required?”

Stiles breathed out as his headache eased. Scott was right about one thing, that’s what they were there for: digging. Not for… whatever had just happened between them. “You don’t get out of it that easily,” he replied, walking over to a pair of aspen that were touching each other from ground to sky, so entwined they looked like one tree. Pawing around in a small snow drift near their base, Stiles brushed dirt off the shovel he’d placed there when he’d dug the hole the first time. He tossed the shovel at Scott.

“I knew it!” Scott exclaimed. “Physical labor!” He hit the shovel into the earth where Stiles had previously indicated, stepping on it and pushing the square cutting edge a bare inch into the ground. “It’s as hard as stone! This is going to take me a month of digging!”

Stiles settled down on the damp forest floor, his back to an aspen, some distance from where Scott threw the first clod of dirt. He closed his eyes, feeling tired. “Better dig fast then, put your back into it.”

Scott was still complaining when Stiles started to drift off. He didn’t fall asleep fully, the thump of the shovel hitting the ground a constant track in the back of his mind along with Scott complaining. Stiles was awake enough to be fuzzily amused by it and to understand that even with his constant muttering, Scott didn’t stop digging or ask Stiles to take over. 

“What did you bury out here?” Scott finally asked, tossing the shovel onto the ground, giving it a nasty look.

Stiles roused himself enough to sit forward from the tree and roll his head around on his shoulders, eyeing Scott with dark amusement. It had taken him long enough to get up the nerve to ask. “The Nemeton spheres.”

“You buried them here? Why not keep them in your house?”

Stiles snorted. He’d never keep something so precious in a house, and he didn’t want to keep the spheres at the Nemeton in case they accidentally merged with it. Where else was left but his aspen forest? “This is the best place.” Stiles closed his eyes again, listening to the aspens creaking above him. 

“I think I’m there,” Scott announced.

Anticipation pooling at the base of his spine, Stiles joined Scott at the hole.

Digging the hole the first time had been a bitch. That must have been the reason he’d invited Scott along. His subconscious must have remembered how heinous the digging had been. Nothing else made sense as to why Scott was there. Stiles wanted to pat his subconscious on the back; clever little thing.

Lying on his stomach, he reached into the hole to retrieve the box he’d hidden and pulled it out from under the last layer of dirt. Opening the lid, he stared at the two wooden Nemeton spheres nestled inside, their symbols as crisp and clear as when Deaton first carved them.

“They look so ordinary,” Scott observed. “Like those chiming balls. You know, the ones you rotate in your hand. Only these are wooden. And engraved with magical signs. And a lot bigger. Okay, so not much like them at all.”

“Baoding balls,” Stiles said absently. He could feel the magic inside the spheres calling softly. He ran a finger over one of the carvings and the magic jumped at his touch.

“You’d never guess what they were just by looking. You’re really going to use them to call back missing pieces of the Nemeton?” Scott asked. 

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes. “Yep.” And so much more.

He shut the lid.

***

Scott and Stiles stood outside Deaton’s house, Stiles eyeing it warily. Designed in the American Craftsman style with stone pillars and a covered entry, it looked rather welcoming. It even had a hanging porch seat. It was sweet and charming, utterly unlike the bastard housed within.

“He got home a few days ago,” Scott said, waiting for Stiles to move off the street. “He’s still sore and hasn’t been to the animal clinic yet. The doctor said he’s to take his recovery slow, too much talking could set him back.”

Stiles tried not to smirk. He may not have killed Deaton but an extended period of pain was just as good.

Seeming to guess his line of thinking, Scott gave Stiles a dirty look and went up the paved walkway to the front door. As Stiles joined him, he fished a key from his pocket. Stiles’ eyebrows rose. Now there was a key he needed a copy of. 

Scott read his interest wrong and said defensively, “What? The pain tablets make him sleepy and he doesn’t always hear the doorbell.”

Stiles’ brows rose further, a small smile gracing his features.

“He needs someone to check on him.” Scott glared. “It’s Doctors’ orders!”

“I’m sure.” It was so easy to make Scott squirm.

“Shut up,” Scott told him, making Stiles chuckle, and opened the door. “Deaton? It’s Scott and Stiles.” An answer came from the back of the house that Stiles didn’t hear clearly but Scott obviously did. “Wait here,” he said, and went down the hallway.

Stiles ambled to his left, drawn by the bookshelves he could see. The room they were in had probably been used for something else in its time but Deaton had decked it out as his library. Stiles was just about to dive in for a proper snooping, wondering if there were any books on fae, when Scott came back with Deaton. 

Catching himself staring at the mottled bruising covering Deaton’s throat, Stiles was impressed with himself. He’d done a good job.

“It looks worse than it is,” Deaton told him quietly. 

It was not what Stiles had been hoping to hear but he nodded as if it had been. No need to start off on the wrong foot. 

Deaton gestured to the chairs in the room and they sat, Stiles sinking into the embroidered cushioning of a high-backed one. The vet had eclectic taste.

“Could I offer you something to drink?”

Stiles gave Deaton an incredulous look. 

Deaton smiled dryly. “I assumed as much.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles dared not say what he was thinking in case it got him thrown out before he got what he came for.

“Stiles, you had something to say to Deaton?” Scott urged, putting emphasis where it wasn’t needed. 

Stiles knew exactly what Scott wanted him to say, it just wasn’t going to happen. Ever. He remained silent after giving Scott a disgusted look. 

“It’s alright, Scott,” Deaton cut in. “Stiles and I have an understanding. You require assistance of me?”

Reaching into the pockets of his jacket, Stiles brought out the spheres, holding one in each hand.

“Ah.” Deaton sat back in his chair.

Stiles finally spoke to him. “I need to know how to call the pieces back.”

Deaton nodded and got up. Stiles did the same, not sure what was going on. 

“Scott, can you make some room?” Deaton asked, gesturing to the chairs. 

While Scott pushed the chairs back to the walls, Deaton rummaged around in a desk until he found a small box. He opened it and handed Stiles a piece of chalk. “A circle, if you will,” he requested.

Stiles wasn’t surprised Deaton was smart enough to have him do this part; no way was he letting the druid cast circle around him. He was putting enough trust in the man as it was just by being in his house.

When the circle was drawn on the floor boards, Stiles’ magic lying along the line, Deaton motioned for him to sit. Stiles sat down crossed legged inside the circle, the spheres in his lap. Deaton knelt on the outside and Scott sat on the embroidered chair, his legs drawn up and his feet off the floor like he thought it was required or something.

“When I created the spheres,” Deaton explained, his voice hushed, “I knew I wasn’t strong enough to use them the way I wanted. I could see what I desired in my dreams but it took time to understand what I was preparing for would not be achieved by my hand.” He stopped talking and winced, touching his throat gently before continuing. “The symbols carved on the spheres act as keys to the mind. They help to focus magic, will and desire. Unlike last time, instead of just finding them with a locating spell, Stiles, you will pull the pieces back to you. To start, find the symbols for home and healing.”

Stiles slowly turned one of the spheres over, trying to find a distinct shape among all the swirls and defined lines which seemed to bleed into one another, until he found the symbol of a square in a triangle with an underlining line beneath it. He knew from his research it meant ‘home’ to many witches and magical practitioners. 

When he touched it, the sphere hummed in his mind and the connection he had to the Tree sparked. 

Turning over the other sphere, he found a symbol that looked like a stylized tree with bare branches. Again it resonated with his research. He put his thumb on it and the room seemed to ripple, his mind slightly detaching from his surroundings.

“That’s good, you’re doing well,” Deaton praised. 

Feeling like he was being tested, Stiles wanted to smack Deaton, but it was an absent thought as the spheres were drawing him down into the myriad connections they held. Deaton and Scott faded away and all that remained were tiny pin points of light within his mind, each one a beacon, each one a piece of the Nemeton. 

Deaton was still talking but his voice was almost silent, a whisper of afterthought, as Stiles willed the spheres to show him the pieces that were being used by druids. Numerous tiny lights shone brighter than the rest and he felt a certain satisfaction. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to do it as his magic was not of druidic ritual and theory, but he’d got it done. 

Very carefully and one by one, he touched the lights through the sphere’s magic. Every time he did, they shone that much brighter, their connection to the Tree that much stronger. Stiles kept his own magic out of it, understanding now why the fae had been adamant Deaton was the one to show him how it was done. The spheres were druidic in design and the calling reflected that. The familiarity would make the druids think they were the ones being summoned, not the wood. Which they were, but not by another druid and not for any purpose they would conceive.

When it was done by magic, by will, by desire, Stiles felt wrecked. Keeping himself separate enough so as to not taint the call with fae magic required a level of concentration he hadn’t used for ages. 

Slowly pulling away and dimming his connection with the spheres, Stiles brought himself back to Deaton’s library. His eyelids felt heavy, the spheres rolling from his hands across the floor boards to rest up against the chalk circle.

“Stiles?” Scott called softly. 

“Give him a moment,” Deaton advised. “Notice how his glamor wavers? He connected very strongly to the Tree in order to use the spheres and even for the fae protector that takes time to come back from.”

Deaton was so very wrong about that but Stiles didn’t have the energy nor inclination to explain he was tired because of the subterfuge. Connecting with the Tree never tired him out for they were always connected. Deaton was so stupid, thinking he knew so much about the Tree and fae, but for once his ego would work in Stiles’ favor. 

Head dropping down to his chest, Stiles breathed slow and deep, the Nemeton curling around inside him, the very lifeblood in his veins keeping him alive. He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. 

“You did well,” Deaton told him when he finally looked up. “Scott, he needs water.”

Scott took off into what Stiles assumed was the direction of the kitchen, returning with a large glass. After sculling it, Stiles felt better immediately, though his bones felt like they ground together. Using druidic magic did not sit well with him.

“You’ve used a lot of magic,” Deaton told him unnecessarily. “Rest is advisable.”

Stiles uncurled his legs and, almost as an afterthought, rubbed the chalk circle away with the side of his foot. Mindful of his aching body, he scooped up the spheres, putting them back in his pockets. 

Stepping into the broken circle, Scott helped him to stand. Stiles leant into him, feeling too fragile to put up a fight. 

“Thank you,” Scott said to Deaton. “How will we know if it worked?”

Deaton gave one of his enigmatic smiles. “When the first of the pieces shows up, would be my best guess.”

“How is that going to happen exactly?” Scott asked, and Stiles side-eyed him, hoping they weren’t about to guess Beacon Hills was going to have visitors.

“We will have to see. These thing have a way of working themselves out in ways that are surprising,” Deaton answered. 

Stiles didn’t detect any worry coming off him so it must have been Deaton’s belief in them doing the right thing that made him so amiable to whatever happened. It seemed that luck was still on Stiles’ side.

Not wanting to push that luck by staying any longer than was required, Stiles tugged at Scott, getting him moving.

As Scott helped him outside, Stiles tipped his face up to the sky, almost flopping out of Scott’s hold as the sun’s energy flowed into him. His glamor was still ‘wavering’ so he squinted his eyes and ducked his head, not knowing how nosey Deaton’s neighbors were. 

He didn’t want to get in the car when they got to it, big steel box that it was, but didn’t have much of a choice. Once in, he wound down the window and practically became a puddle, legs and arms splaying out as he slid down in the seat. It was nice to have room to do so. Why couldn’t Derek see what Melissa clearly could? Cars should be big enough to comfortably sleep in.

“Stiles?” Scott ventured carefully.

“Mmmm?” 

“You okay? You look really pale. More than you normally do, which is saying something.”

Stiles looked over at Scott, still too out of it to stop his eyes from shining their mercury gray. Scott didn’t flinch or otherwise react. “I’m tired. A little sun, a little rest, I’ll be fine.” 

Scott still watched him with enough concern that Stiles waved a lax hand for him to go. With obvious reluctance, Scott started the car.

“Scott?” Stiles murmured, spurned on by a strange urge.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Thanks for helping.”

Scott smiled as Stiles closed his eyes. 

***

Still tired when they got to his house, Stiles walked around to the back, hoping to sleep for a while in his sycamore tree. Reaching out with his mind he didn’t expect to feel the tree’s essence, so when nothing came back he only sighed and leaned his head against the sycamore’s bark.

When he started climbing it was with heavy limbs. Never again was he using druid magic. He’d destroy it for sure, but using? No, it wasn’t for him.

He was almost to the bower when the back door of his house opened and Derek came out, just like Stiles had hoped he would. As Derek walked over, Stiles jumped down, lethargy making him land ungracefully in the snow. Derek helped him up and they came together in a hug. 

Sensing agitation, Stiles asked, “What’s wrong?”

Derek didn’t answer, his eyes flicking down to Stiles’ mouth and staying there. 

Stiles smiled, hoping. When Derek’s thumb rubbed against his bottom lip, he caught it gently with his teeth, giving it a suggestive lick before sucking it into his mouth. Heated intent washed over him, coming from Derek, almost completely wiping out the worry that had been there before. Stiles was whole-heartedly on board with that. He slid his hands around Derek’s hips and angled his head for a kiss. 

Derek sighed and turned his head away. “Chris is missing.”

Arousal turning into irritation, Stiles was pulled up short. “Why’s that our problem?”

“Because he’s a friend.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

Derek gave Stiles a look which said that while he wasn’t surprised by the comment, he hadn’t wanted to hear it either.

Stiles stepped back and folded his arms. “What? I’m not going to pretend to be anything but relieved if he’s no longer snooping into my life.”

“He’s been —”

“If you say he’s been helping me, I’m leaving,” Stiles warned. “Besides, do you actually know he’s missing? And since when are we keeping tabs on his whereabouts?”

“Since he told your dad he needed to see him and then didn’t turn up. A routine patrol found his car a few hours ago crashed into a guard rail near the preserve, but he wasn’t there and isn’t answering his phone.”

“Maybe he wandered off and got lost. Could be, he stumbled into a ditch and is unconscious somewhere.” Stiles smiled. It was a good theory; full of possibilities.

“Don’t sound so hopeful,” Derek chided. “Don’t forget, he helped us against Ramona when she attacked us. She also filed a missing persons report at the station about her niece. It’s possible she could have grabbed Chris in misguided retribution.”

Stiles sniggered before he could stop himself, then waved away Derek’s judging look. “Argent’s already tried to pin that one on me.” 

Derek nodded. “I heard. You should have told me.”

“Because we’ve had so much time together since you woke,” Stiles pointed out. “But if you want to fix that, I’m all for it.” He ran a hand up Derek’s chest and gave what he hoped were his best bedroom eyes. 

Derek melted a little, pushing into Stiles’ touch. “I want to. But we’re going to search for Chris. Your dad’s got people looking for him.”

“Lot of effort for such an asshole,” Stiles muttered.

“You’re not going to help, are you.”

Stiles laughed, he couldn’t believe Derek would even presume. “Not in a million years.” He tipped his head, curious now, despite his best intentions. “Do you think Ramona has him?”

Derek looked away as doubt rolled off him. “It’s possible,” he hedged. 

The back door opened and Scott, Malia, Lydia and Liam exited the house to stand on the porch. Stiles was seriously annoyed at everyone using his house like it wasn’t his anymore and coming over whenever the fuck they pleased. He put his back to the sycamore as they crossed the yard, worry and nervousness wafting off them. Normally he’d enjoy their discomfort, but it just served to piss him off more. 

“Ookay, want to explain what’s going on?” he demanded.

After a significant pause where the pack glanced at each other, Derek said, “Liam tracked Chris from the car accident into the preserve.”

Scott added, “He caught the scent of something besides Chris. We think it took him from his car. Maybe caused the accident.”

“What thing?” Stiles asked. “And you believe this mutt’s nose?” He made a condescending gesture towards Liam. 

“Hey!” Liam growled. “I know what I smelt!”

“I doubt that,” Stiles replied scornfully, hiding his amusement. Liam was so easy to bait it was almost shameful to do it, but it was too much fun to pass up.

Liam took a step forward, eyes turing yellow.

Stiles smirked. “Down boy.”

“Come with us,” Lydia interrupted, while Scott put a restraining hand on Liam. “Please, we need your help.”

Stiles turned from egging Liam on, to look at her. “I can see why, if all you’ve got to help you is Liam.”

“That’s it!” Liam yelled, trying to push Scott off him. “I’m going to flatten you!”

Stiles laughed, clapping his hands in delight. Too easy, but oh, so good.

“The fae,” Derek said, stepping between them. “We think the fae took him.”

Stiles blinked. What struck him right at that moment was the word Scott had used. “Something,” he repeated, looking at Scott holding Liam back. “Not someone, some-thing.” His humor evaporated. “Good to know speciesism is alive and kicking in the McCall pack.”

Derek winced, and Malia thumped Scott on the arm. “You just can’t help but screw it up, can you?” she hissed. 

“What’d I do this time?” Scott complained, looking completely lost. “Bro, come with us. Help us find Chris.”

“Nah,” Stiles said. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You don’t seem surprised the fae may have taken Mr. Argent.” Lydia looked at him, her gaze calculating.

Stiles’ lips twitched. “That’s because I’m not.” He could have lied, but why should he? If the fae had taken Argent the end result would be perfect and awesome.

“Why not?”

Reaching up behind himself, Stiles took hold of the sycamore. “You called it a thing, not a someone, but the fae has lived for eons before any of us were born, before our parents were born. It deserves your respect, not you hunting it down.” Swinging himself up the trunk of the tree, he hung there like a spider monkey, toes and fingers in the bark like he had claws. The looks on everyone’s faces was priceless. Everyone’s except for Derek’s, but Stiles made sure not to look at him.

“Stiles, if it’s taking people we have to stop it!” Scott argued. 

“You don’t, you know. You could let things play out as they’ve done for hundreds of years.” Stiles climbed a bit farther up, closer to the bower. 

“You mean how fae have always taken people?” Lydia asked.

Stiles winked down at her. “Just so.” Tipping his face up to the sun, he added, “I hope it did take him.” He may not have been watching, but he felt the effect his words had as a wave of shock floated up to him. Swinging into the bower, he crouched on the edge, peering down, making sure not to catch a certain wolf’s eye.

“You should all go,” Derek suggested, looking at the others. “Pick up Mason, then go find Chris.”

“What about you?” Scott asked.

Derek tipped his head to look up at the tree’s bower. Stiles found the roof of his house suddenly very interesting. “I’m needed here.”

“If we’re going to do this, can we go now?” Malia asked, impatiently. She deftly ignored everyone’s looks of reprimand, calling out, “Bye, Stiles!” before she walked back across the yard.

Stiles chuckled; her irreverence refreshing.

With a lot more gravitas, Lydia followed Malia around the side of the house.

Scott pushed Liam in front of him as they went the same way, Liam glaring up at Stiles one last time before he was out of sight. Stiles waggled his fingers in farewell, and got a fair bit of amusement out of the finger he got in return.

Derek stood at the base of the tree. “I’m coming up.”

Stiles shifted over to give him room, watching from the corner of his eye as Derek climbed. He put out a hand and stopped Derek from coming any closer once he’d reached the bower. 

“You were right before,” Derek told him.

“When was I right?”

“When you suggested we need time, just the two of us.”

Stiles snorted and lowered his arm. “That’s a no-brainer.”

Derek crowded into him. “Just like this for a while,” he murmured, pushing his nose into Stiles’ neck and breathing deeply.

Stiles was more than happy to comply, wrapping his arms around Derek and drifting on the surprising ocean of contentedness his wolf was projecting. He’d thought all he’d get was a lecture and more agitation, but instead he got snuggly, loving Derek which was always so much better than anything else. 

As they lay down in the bower, he wove an illusion to keep them safe from prying eyes. It required a little more effort than normal but he chalked it up to how tired he was from calling the Nemeton wood. Petting Derek’s hair, he watched the sky through the sycamore’s branches. The early morning had turned into a lovely Winter’s day; the air crisp and clear with a chill breeze that spoke of further snow to come.

Derek started kissing Stiles’ neck, making him smile as his jacket was pushed out of the way. The Nemeton spheres rolled in his pockets and his shirt rucked up as Derek kissed along his stomach. A slow building of desire in Stiles’ gut made him cant his hips up for more though he wasn’t in any hurry. The smooth flow of Derek’s emotions washing over him was like a cocoon, buffering him from wanting to go too fast.

The kisses stopped and Stiles looked down his nose to find Derek staring back at him. “It’s too cold for me to do what I really want to do with you, but it’s not too cold for you.” Derek tugged at Stiles’ pants, pulling them down just enough for his groin to be on prominent display and his butt to lay naked on the tree. Smiling to himself, Derek ran his nose through Stiles’ pubic hair. He groaned softly, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ dick. 

Stiles shivered as he looked back up at the sky. He stayed that way, loose and compliant, as Derek mouthed him, coaxing him to full hardness with licks and suction, hands on Stiles’ hips grounding him as his tongue lit fire everywhere it touched, slowly unravelling the world. Stiles buried his hand in Derek’s hair as he was brought to the edge and then coaxed beyond into a slow wonderful dive of orgasmic release. His resulting drawn-out moan echoed out into the backyard. He’d forgotten to sound-proof the illusion. 

Derek kept Stiles in his mouth until he was spent, then faced him with a satisfied smile as he lay down alongside him. His hand curled around Stiles’ dick in a show of gentle possessiveness. 

Stiles smiled crookedly at him and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Before they did, Derek warned, “Got your come in my mouth.” 

For once, Stiles didn’t care, even going so far as to swipe his tongue along Derek’s lips. Derek sighed into their kiss and Stiles did it again, reaching down to unzip Derek’s jeans.

“I’m fine,” Derek told him, breaking the kiss and clasping his hand. “Too cold for me anyway.”

Stiles heard it for the truth it was and tugged Derek’s head down onto his chest. Derek lay there, ear up against Stiles’ heart, finger slowly tracing the length of Stiles’ dick. It sent shivers along Stiles’ nerves, and he snuffled into the top of Derek’s head. He was just dropping off to sleep when a change in Derek’s emotions alerted him. The calm and contentedness was slowly ebbing away into concern.

“You want to go search,” Stiles stated.

Derek shrugged. “No.”

“Liar.” Stiles let his hands slip off Derek. “You can if you need to.”

Derek leant up on one elbow, and they stared at one another. “If I go, what will you do?”

Stiles affected nonchalance. “Sleep. What else?”

Derek traced his thumb under Stiles’ eye, gently. “I want to help them,” he admitted.

“I know.”

“You okay?”

Stiles smiled crookedly. “I’m always okay.” He pushed Derek gently. “Go. Do your ‘good guy’ thing. Save the cheerleader.”

Derek frowned. “Chris isn’t a cheerleader.”

Stiles sighed. “Yet another perfectly good reference ruined by your lack of pop culture knowledge.” He leant up and kissed Derek on the nose. “Good thing I love you.”

Derek’s smile was sudden and blinding. “I love you, too.” He kissed Stiles, then with a thankful look, dropped down out of the sycamore.

Rolling over, Stiles propped his chin on one hand, watching Derek stride across the yard. When he got to the side of the house he turned and looked back. 

Stiles quirked a smile and knowing Derek would hear him, leered and said, “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.” 

The resulting look of confusion and slight blush that graced Derek’s face made Stiles cackle, and he blew Derek a heartfelt kiss. Derek did the same back and rounded the corner of the house.

Stiles’ smile fell and he sighed once more, rolling back over to stare up through the sycamore branches. Reaching into his jacket pockets, he pulled out the Nemeton spheres. They fit so perfectly in his hands and felt so natural sitting there, like an extension of his own self. He chalked it up to the fact both he and the spheres were part of the Tree, separate but joined together.

What was he going to do with them? He couldn’t keep them on him all the time, that just wasn’t feasible, but he didn’t want to let them out of his sight either. And the aspen forest was out of the question now Scott knew of it. 

Stiles sighed and looked upwards, following the sycamore’s trunk up to the sky. An idea started to form. 

Standing up, he searched the tree, climbing around until he found what he’d been hoping for: a hidden hole, only visible at a certain angle from above. The hole wasn’t very big. Made from where two branches grew from the trunk close together, it was more of a hollow and just deep enough to hold two very special items. The perfect hiding place, as if it had been created for just this purpose. After slotting the spheres into their new home, Stiles put illusions over the hole, making it impossible for anyone to focus on where the spheres were. 

He was pleased when he jumped back down into the bower. In some ways this spot was a better hiding place than the aspen forest.

***

Stiles lay blinking, trying to work out why he was suddenly awake. One minute he knew he’d been deeply asleep, in the next his heart was in his throat and he could taste the iron tang of adrenalin on the back of his tongue. His thoughts went to Derek and he sat up, holding his chest.

The claiming bond was abuzz with anxiety and anger, none of it his, making him feel like he was supposed to be fighting or running for his life, not sleeping in his backyard.

Shaking out his hands, he stood up in the bower and tried to pin-point where Derek was by reaching out through their claim. It seemed to take forever but the direction eventually solidified and became strong, pulling towards the preserve. 

Stiles stepped out of the bower, using the sunlight and disappearing before he touched the ground.

His next step was into deep snow under a tall pine. He ran, following the claim’s pull, around trees and over snow drifts. Derek was nearby, he could feel it. He heard fighting and slowed down to take in what was happening.

Scott was standing off with a guy wearing the camouflage gear of Ramona’s people, Lydia behind him on the ground. She was groaning and sitting up slowly, Scott trying to keep the guy’s attention off her and on him.

Fighting two other men, one who was armed with a baton, Derek was ducking and throwing punches with a grace that Stiles had always envied and admired in equal measure. As he watched, the guy Derek had just thrown over his back, got up and tried to club Derek with the baton as his partner tried to get in a hit from the front.

Without thinking, Stiles moved sunlight with a wave of his hand, directing it into the guy’s face like a laser beam. It was bright and sharp and the resulting scream caused Derek and everyone else to flinch in surprise and pause in their fighting.

The guy fell back, dropping his baton and clutching his eyes. He screamed some more and folded to his knees.

Stiles stepped into view.

Derek and Scott gave him incredulous looks, but before they could say anything a bullet ripped past them, just missing Scott. Everyone ducked, Derek running towards Stiles, Scott grabbing Lydia and shielding her as they took off behind a tree.

Stiles was slammed into the ground, Derek on top of him, behind a slight rise while the sound of infrequent shooting continued. He immediately wove illusions around the both of them before taking a quick look over the rise. He saw the guy Scott had been fighting slowly moving, like the trained professional he obviously was, backing up and giving covering fire to the third man who was bending over the guy Stiles had felled.

Chuckling at the sight, Stiles moved up for a better view, but Derek shoved him back down onto the snow, growling and obviously annoyed.

Stiles glared at him. “What?!”

“What do you mean, what??” Derek hissed, careful to keep below the rise. “You trying to get yourself killed??”

Stiles waved off his concern, making a scornful noise as he did so. “They can’t see or hear us.” He waggled his fingers. “Magic, remember?” He lay back in the snow, waiting.

Derek shut his mouth, the furious expression he wore changing to something Stiles couldn’t name as he rubbed both hands over his face. “Jesus Christ, Stiles!”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles replied. 

He could hear Ramona’s men urging their partner to his feet. Looking again, he watched them fumble as they made their way, backing up out of the immediate area, blind guy stumbling in pain while being supported by his partner. The one who’d been shooting still had his gun at the ready as he followed them.

Stiles smiled. It was nice to see Ramona’s people retreating. He started to scramble over the rise, intent on following.

Derek grabbed him before he could get too far. “What are you doing?”

“Ending it,” Stiles answered. “Why are you stopping me?”

Derek blinked. “You can’t just —”

“Everyone okay?” Scott interrupted, Lydia by his side. “I didn’t think you were coming to help,” he added, looking at Stiles.

“I wasn’t. I didn’t.”

Scott frowned in confusion but Stiles wasn’t going to explain he was there for Derek. 

One more shot rang out causing Derek to grunt and list to the side. Stiles caught him and saw the red bloom on his right shoulder, close to his lungs. 

“Derek!”

Two more shots followed, both missing and hitting the trees behind them. 

Lydia ducked down to the ground. Stiles reached for her, hooking her by the elbow as he supported Derek. For all that he’d been shot, Derek caught on quickly and grabbed Scott. Within a second, Stiles had sunlight-leaped them to safety.

They landed a fair distance away, Lydia falling into the snow on her knees by the abrupt change in footing.

Immediately checking Derek, Stiles ripped jacket and shirt out of the way to watch the bullet holes in both front and back heal over before his eyes. Derek stood quietly, letting him fuss until no wounds remained, then caught up his hands, stilling his nervous movements.

“I’m okay.”

Stiles breathed out shakily.

“Not wolfsbane,” Derek added. 

Stiles bit his lip and nodded.

Derek looked over at Scott and Lydia. “You okay?”

Scott nodded. “I’m good.” 

“Thank you,” Lydia told Stiles, touching him on the arm.

Stiles narrowed one eye in discomfort. “Don’t mention it.”

“How did he see us?” Derek asked. “I thought you said they couldn’t.”

Stiles shot a look at Scott and Lydia.

As understanding dawned, Derek nodded. “He saw them. You cloaked the two of us, but not them.”

Not really seeing the need to defend himself, Stiles shrugged.

Derek stepped up close and said in his ear, “She could have been killed, Stiles, did you think of that?”

They both looked over at Lydia who was blowing on her hands, her breath coming out frosty in the chilled air.

“Liam, Malia and Mason!” Scott suddenly exclaimed, reaching in his pocket for his phone. 

Stiles rolled his eyes at the dramatics and ignored Scott in favor of looking pointedly at Derek. “I see no Argent with you, or fae for that matter.” 

“We followed Chris’ trail from the crash site,” Derek told him. “Then Ramona’s people showed up and we were separated from the others.”

“I think they followed us from your house, their timing was just too good,” Lydia added, typing away on her phone. “Malia’s not answering.”

“Neither’s Liam or Mason,” Scott added. “We need to go back and find them.”

“Have fun with that,” Stiles informed him, taking Derek’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“That’s it? You’re leaving us to do this on our own?” Scott sounded way more accusing than Stiles believed he had the right to be.

Taking a second, Stiles made it look like he was thinking about it when there really wasn’t anything to think about. “Yep. Looks like.”

Derek pulled his hand away. “I’m not going.”

Stiles was stumped. “What?”

“Help us find them.”

“Uh, wasn’t I clear enough before? No.”

Scott sighed and got in between them, making Stiles want to punch him. “Stop,” he urged. “Let’s go about this in the smart way.” He tipped his head back, eyes bleeding alpha-red and roared into the sky.

Stiles winced and stepped back, highly unimpressed. “That’s smart? You may as well put a neon sign on your whereabouts for every tracker and hunter in the district.”

An answering roar from Liam came from deeper within the preserve. 

Stiles groaned. “Stupidity is rampant in your pack.”

“Let’s go,” Scott said, and left at a run.

Derek and Stiles stood off against each other for a few seconds, before Derek shook his head and ran after Scott.

Lydia remained behind with Stiles. They stood silently for a while, Stiles wondering why he didn’t leave because Derek had just shown he had no trouble doing that exact same thing, when Lydia made a noise in the back of her throat. Stiles eyed her.

“Malia will be alright, won’t she?” Lydia didn’t sound like she expected him to answer, but was hoping he would anyway.

Stiles shrugged. “Sure.” A sliver of doubt wormed its way into his mind. “She’s tough.”

“And brave,” Lydia added. “Derek will be okay, too.”

Stiles thought of the bullet holes in his wolf’s skin. He hummed a non-committed reply.

There was a beat of further silence where he could feel Lydia’s concern begin to rival his own, before she turned to him and started to say, “Stiles, would you mind if —”

He didn’t wait for Lydia to finish asking. He took her hand and sunlight-leapt them to the place in the preserve he guessed was closest to where Liam had howled from.

He was almost spot-on.

When they arrived, Lydia gasped at the sight that greeted them through the trees and Stiles reacted instinctively, shoving her behind one. 

To the furious look she turned on him, he hissed at her, “Stay here. I know you can scream with the best of them and you’ve got your own brand of kick-ass moves happening and this could be considered an entirely sexist act on my part, but I assure you it has less to do with you being female then it does with me not wanting you dead from their oh-so-very-fast bullets. So you. stay. here.”

Lydia nodded in surprise, her eyes wide. 

Stiles dropped his glamor, fae sight taking in the freckles across her nose hidden under a fine layer of makeup. He looked back over at the fighting taking place, then ran right into the middle of it.

Not bothering to put up illusions, Stiles moved as quickly as possible, tripping up the woman trying to decapitate Malia with a machete. After a second of considering using it, he threw the weapon far off into the trees. 

Malia got over her shock at him appearing by her side and breathed out, “Thanks.” Then she punched the woman in the face, knocking her out.

Stiles said nothing, watching Liam parry with another guy. He’d picked up a gun at some point and was using it to block the man’s advancing swipes with a wicked-looking knife. Ramona’s people were nothing if not diverse in their weapon choices. Stiles rolled his eyes at Liam; using a gun that way, he was going to blow his head off if the safety wasn’t on.

“Idiot,” Stiles muttered, and looked for Derek.

Something hard bashed into Stiles’ shoulder, sending him spinning around and clasping his arm as a bright flare of pain radiated outwards across his chest. The nerves in his hand felt electrified and numb at the same time.

“I know you,” a man grunted, as Stiles breathed through the pain. The man was holding an iron baton and swung it at Stiles once more. “You’re the bastard who killed my niece.”

Stiles leaped backwards. “I did what now?” He backed up as the man advanced, casting around for Derek, but still couldn’t see him. The fighting was continuing, neither side gaining the upper hand with numbers pretty even between them. 

“You killed my niece,” the man repeated. “Stefanie.”

Stiles frowned then ducked under the next swing, coming up and punching the man’s gut. He felt something give way under his fist. The man went down halfway to his knees, winded.

Seeing an opportunity while everyone else was occupied, Stiles grinned. “Stefanie, Stefanie,” he mused. “I’ve killed so many hunters, you’re all beginning to blend into one another. What’d she look like?”

The man spat at him but missed. “I’ll … end you,” he panted.

“Highly doubtful, but you’re welcome to keep trying,” Stiles taunted. He moved closer to just outside the man’s reach. “Tell you what, in the interest of fair play, I’ll give you a freebee. A chance to take me out. On the count of three, okay?”

The man’s anger and pain washed over Stiles, making him feel slightly giddy. He held back a chuckle as he started counting.

“One …”

The man stood straighter, one arm pressed into his gut. He switched the baton to his free hand and gripped it tight.

“Two …”

The man yelled and charged. Stiles dogged to the side, too quickly to be seen, and pushed the man into a tree, head-first. His face collided with the bark and he stiffened before groaning and collapsing at the tree’s base.

Turning the man over, Stiles kicked the offending baton away. “You didn’t wait for three,” he said conversely, as the man blinked slowly. He was obviously concussed and the broken nose he now sported probably wasn’t helping his cognitive abilities. 

“You cheated,” Stiles accused, sitting on the man’s legs. “Bad boy.” Placing his hand on the side of the man’s neck, he grinned. “Now, it’s my turn. You get a penalty time out, so just sit there. This’ll be over soon.” He was hungry, almost salivating at the thought of what was to come. A giggle came unbidden from somewhere deep inside. 

The man’s eyes widened behind his glazed look, able to tell danger was staring him right in the face, even if he couldn’t focus on it. 

Unwilling to draw the wait out further, Stiles opened up his fox ability and started to pull the man’s soul into the void. Pleasure, thick as the black lines beginning to snake up his hand, shuddered through him and he moaned, tipping his head back. The lines grew, flowing over the scars on his wrist and up his arm. He reeled in the man’s soul without pause, wanting it fast and quick. 

Someone slammed into him, pushing him off the man and breaking the connection in one ugly rapid separation. The man’s soul was gone, yanked out of the void, back to its own body, and Stiles floundered on the ground as he came crashing down from his soul-sucking high. 

“Get off!” he yelled, pushing and shoving at whoever had tackled him. 

They got the message and moved away.

Stiles sat up, glaring at Scott kneeling a little distance away, then glanced around. The fighting had stopped, Ramona’s people incapacitated. Liam and Mason were busy tying them up, Liam punching one who put up a struggle.

The man Stiles had tried to kill was being looked over by Malia. She tipped his face one way, then the next and pronounced, “Unconscious. But he’ll be fine.”

Stiles snarled under his breath.

“Stiles, stop,” Scott pleaded, a look of utter shock on his face.

Stiles hissed at him loudly, the sound vibrating through his chest, highlighting how empty he felt. The hiss turned into a yell and he launched himself forward.

Scott scooted out of the way, Stiles just missing him as he was tackled from behind and went crashing into the snow.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled at him, holding onto his waist and dragging him backwards as he fought to get to Scott. 

Rain started to fall hard from a suddenly darkening sky. The noise of the wind picking up almost drowned out everyone’s exclamations of Stiles’ name.

“Let me go!” Stiles screamed. He bucked and writhed, cursing Scott as he fought to get Derek off his back. He felt his elbow connect with a jaw, and was vastly satisfied when Derek yelled and loosened his hold.

“God, Stiles! Stop!” 

Stiles turned over, glaring and blinking up through the pelting rain. 

Derek was rotating his jaw and looking furious. “Enough! Stop this shit and get a hold of yourself!”

Stiles hissed once more and leapt up. Sidestepping Derek with fae speed, he jumped on Scott in one motion, hitting him hard with his shoulder and taking him down. Using all his strength, he punched Scott in the chest but anger made his form sloppy.

Scott wheezed and gripped Stiles’ wrist, catching his other hand and holding both tightly. Stiles struggled, rolling them in the snow and rain, unable to see, everything a blur of wet cold ground and the harsh thumps of their bodies contacting each other. 

Overwhelming rage ate at Stiles; he became instinct and teeth, magic and fury. He hissed and yelled, struggling in Scott’s grip. Sinking his teeth into any piece of skin that came close enough, he tasted blood and flesh. He couldn’t stop long enough to think of how to use his magic to target Scott so it built within him, making his rage swell.

Rolling again, they slipped down an incline, becoming air-born before a tree stopped their decent, Stiles’ back complaining at the impact. He landed in the snow with Scott on top of him and lay there, trying to breathe through bright flashes of pain. Scott pushed himself off Stiles and collapsed next to him, healing quickly from the numerous bite marks on his face and neck.

They stared at each other, Stiles spitting out blood that wasn’t his, as Derek and the others skidded down the hill towards them.

Scott blinked and brought a hand up to his eyes, wiping them free of rain, snow and blood. It was hard to know what he was thinking; his expression closed off but eyes bright as they tracked over Stiles’ body. “You okay?”

Stiles pushed himself up to standing, ignoring the twinge in his back and the ache in his wrists. He’d heal. Maybe not as fast as Scott who was already fine, but give him half a day and he’d be good to go. He took a step, shoving Scott out of the way. Now, he was really done.

Scott grabbed Stiles’ arms, his face suddenly just as thunderous as the clouds above them. “Stop, Stiles. Just stop!!”

“Fuck you!” 

Stiles started to struggle once more until Scott let him go and stepped back, slipping a bit on the rain-slicked snow.

Stiles leant against the tree they’d whacked into. He put a hand to his back, wishing he could pull pain from himself. He was so angry, so vastly angry as he glared at everyone, waiting for them to come at him.

Lydia and Mason stopped Liam from doing just that by holding his shoulders. His eyes were a baleful yellow, glowing through the pouring rain, but he didn’t shrug them off. Malia stood by Lydia’s side, squinting up at the sky while shielding her eyes with one hand. Derek stood with them, not making a move to come to Stiles’ aid. The disappointment showing on his face made Stiles drop his head and look away.

It seemed that show of weakness was all Scott needed to start up again, lightning illuminating his incredulous expression. “What was that? What the hell were you doing with that guy?!”

“What did it look like I was doing?” Stiles snarled, still too righteously angry to give a damn about hiding his intent. “Take a wild guess!”

“You were killing him,” Mason spoke up, talking loudly to be heard over the storm. “You were, weren’t you?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Stiles rang an imaginary bell. “Congratulations! You win first prize!”

They stared at him, Scott, Lydia, Mason and Liam, with almost identical expressions of shock and dismay. Malia was the one who caught Stiles’ attention. She was watching everyone with a calculating side-eye, seemingly unperturbed by his admission. Derek’s expression didn’t change one bit, staying stoically disappointed, but Stiles’ anger didn’t let him dwell on that before he was pushing further, wanting to unsettle things just that little bit more.

“Here’s where you tell me I can’t kill people and where I tell you I don’t give a fuck what you think I should and shouldn’t do.” Finally, he’d said it. Maybe now, Scott would understand. Maybe they all would.

Scott seemed to loose all color in his face. “No, Stiles … you don’t mean that.”

Stiles’ anger burned hot and he screamed into the wind. “You’re still not listening to me!!” His magic flared, sparking off into the atmosphere. There was a second where everything was still, every atom surrounding them charged and ready, then that second passed. 

A flash followed that lit up the forest, bright white light the only thing to remain as the world was swallowed by an electric charge. Between one beat and the next, the world was spat back out, accompanied by the tremendous booming noise of lightning hitting the ground near Scott’s feet. 

Stiles felt the energy wave crash over him; punching through his being and making him flinch violently in fright. His magic bent the lightning around his body, whisking it away into the earth, leaving him and the tree he leant against unharmed, though every hair on his body stood on end and his heart raced. 

It took him a few seconds to think straight, but then Stiles looked frantically towards Derek, seeing him picking himself up off the ground. Liam, Mason, Malia and Lydia were doing the same. They’d been far enough away that they were relatively unhurt.

Scott had been closer and was no longer standing in front of him. Stiles finally spied him near the bottom of another tree. “Scott!” he yelled. Heart in his mouth and ice trickling down his spine, he ran, crossing the ground and landing on his knees, skidding into Scott’s side. 

Smelling of burnt hair, skin and rubber, Scott lay frighteningly still. The sole of one of his shoes had blown off, showing a blackened foot, blistered and oozing. There was no anger left in Stiles, only a painful lump in his throat the size of a fist. The rain stopped and the winds eased, dropping off into nothing. The sudden silence was deafening.

Groaning, Scott rolled over, blinking red alpha eyes up at Stiles. “Since when can you call lightning?” he croaked out, before coughing and then moaning at the resulting pain.

Stiles was unable to answer. He gave into the urge to touch Scott’s chest and shoulders, checking for injuries. Every time his fingers brushed skin, a small zap of electricity passed between them. 

Catching Stiles’ hands, Scott winced at the larger shock it produced. “Enough, I’m fine.” He groaned once more, rolling his head in the snow. “Didn’t actually think you’d try to kill me.”

Stiles felt a numbness that had nothing to do with the weather. “That wasn’t me.”

“My headache begs to differ,” Scott replied dryly. 

Overcome, Stiles sat back, clasping his arms around himself, breath beginning to catch in his throat. Derek dropped down by his side. He was saying something, but Stiles was unable to focus enough to understand. Liam was yelling while helping Scott sit up, but again, the words were practically silent. Scott patted Liam’s shoulder, wincing a little. He turned worried eyes on Stiles and reached out, his mouth moving.

Stiles flinched back into Derek’s arms.

“— bro, it’s —” Scott’s words started to penetrate the silence.

Stiles noticed Derek’s hand on his arm where he held him tight. Black lines, so alike but also so unlike his own, travelled up a strong capable forearm, taking whatever physical pain he may have had. The lines faded away, leaving a floating feeling not unlike being medicated during a hospital stay. His hearing came back with a pop that made him blink furiously.

“— was joking,” Scott was saying. “It was a stupid, I take it back.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, Derek’s hug stopping him from rocking in place. He heard someone say in a flat monotone, “I thought you were dead,” then realized he was the one speaking. Shaken free, all his anxiety bloomed fresh, mixing with the horror of what had almost happened. Tears flooded his sight. He brushed a slow hand over his eyes.

“Stiles,” Scott said gently, “I’m here.”

“I thought you were dead,” Stiles repeated stupidly. 

Derek scooted back, letting Scott take his place. Tentatively, he put his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles leant into him, trying hard not to close his eyes and just fall into the hug when Scott put a hand on the back of his head and held him close.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles chanted, unable to stop. “I’m sorry …”

“Shhh, it’s alright. I’m okay, we’re all okay.” 

“Okay?!” Liam exploded. “He’s trying to kill people! How is that okay?! And why the fuck are you comforting him when he almost killed you??”

“Stop it, Liam,” Derek ordered. “We’ve discussed this. You know it’s not that simple.”

“No, I don’t! I don’t care anymore about his problems and the danger he’s in, he’s a danger to us! How are you not seeing this?!”

Watching from his position against Scott as everyone gave Liam different levels of unimpressed glares, Stiles felt a little better.

“This is such bullshit!” Liam fixed Stiles with a heated look. 

Mason stepped between them. “Come on,” he said soothingly. “Let’s go keep an eye on the real evil guys, okay?” 

He lead Liam away up the hill, talking quietly. Stiles thought he was possibly spouting platitudes or some other Mason-type thing, which Liam was only half-heartedly listening to if the death glares he was still giving over his shoulder were any indication.

Scott announced, “I’m starting to freeze here. I gotta move.” He gave Stiles one last hug before passing him back to Derek.

With his wolf’s help, Stiles stood up slowly, not sure where to look. He couldn’t bring himself to ask if Scott was truly okay.

“Woah,” Scott exclaimed, wriggling his toes on the foot that had lost its shoe. The skin was healing into a soft baby pink, the blistering and burnt flesh flaking away. “You can put on quite a show when you want, dude.”

“Wasn’t me,” Stiles muttered, hunching in on himself.

“Uh-huh. We didn’t fight in your own mini hurricane, and you didn’t call lightning down from the sky. And it didn’t just miraculously clear up.” Scott looked at Stiles and it was obvious how hard he was trying to make light of it all. “Nope, you did none of that.”

Stiles knew his expression was pained, it couldn’t be anything else right then. He looked up at the sky and its perfect blue vastness without a hint of cloud. “I didn’t.”

Scott was gently disbelieving. “Bro, Deaton explained what kind of magic you can do.” At Stiles’ affronted intake of breath, he continued, “You won’t tell me yourself. Besides, the wording of your pact makes it okay for him to talk to me about it. We didn’t break any of your rules.”

Begrudgingly having to agree, Stiles asked, “What’d he tell you?”

“That fae have control of the elements,” Scott answered simply. “Wind and rain and lightning are elements, so I just assumed.” He gave Stiles a suspicious look. “You really didn’t do it?”

Stiles glanced away, bitting his lips. They were on the verge of becoming raw, the way he was going. “I don’t know?”

“How could you not know?”

Derek rubbed Stiles’ shoulder with one hand. Stiles leant back into his wolf’s solid comforting mass. 

Scott sighed. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not that,” Stiles disagreed, surprised to find it really wasn’t. “It’s trial and error for the most part. I make it up as I go along.”

“But you’ve got your fae mentor to teach you.” 

Stiles didn’t even try to hold back his harsh bark of disagreement. Scott believing he was getting a one-on-one fae education was as laughable as it was annoying. 

The expression on Scott’s face went from confused to understanding rather too quickly. “It doesn’t help you, does it? It doesn’t teach you, doesn’t support you. It just orders you around.”

Stiles shrugged himself out of Derek’s arms. Telling Scott anything about the fae was not happening. “Okay, we’ve had our buddy moment, it’s over now,” he stated. “I want to go home.” 

After sharing significant looks with Scott and Lydia, Derek said, “Come on,” and started leading Stiles up the incline. “I’ll drive us home.”

Stiles normally would have complained loudly and long with varied examples of what he’d prefer to do rather than having to ride in Derek’s car but this time he said nothing, instead just silently following his wolf, leaving Scott’s pack behind as they started discussing what to do with Ramona’s people.

The relative quiet of walking through the snow was something Stiles welcomed. A slight breeze blew through the topmost branches of the trees and Derek’s presence was calm and reassuring. The claim had a soft feel to it that made Stiles look at his wolf with an equal fondness.

“You smell of pain,” Derek observed, and his hand found Stiles’ own. “Headache?”

Stiles sighed in relief as the floaty feeling came back, chasing away the steady throbbing at the back of his head. “Wolf-morphine, so good.”

“They getting worse?” Derek questioned as he stepped over a snow-covered branch.

Stiles grunted in reply, following along without letting go of Derek’s hand. “Just part of it, I guess.”

“Part of what?”

Stiles didn’t want to talk about his decent into crazy. He walked faster, hoping Derek would take the hint. When Derek said nothing, only speeding up to keep pace with him, Stiles allowed himself to relax.

***

Back at the cabin, Derek searched through the cabinets in the kitchen, frown in place, seemingly miles away. Swinging his legs as he sat on a bar stool, Stiles watched, wondering what Derek was thinking about. Was he worrying about Argent? Stiles wasn’t, never would, but he couldn’t help but ponder the relationship between a werewolf and a supposed ex-hunter. It bugged him that he didn’t have any certain answers.

Finally getting out a bread loaf and a knife, Derek putt them on the chopping board before staring at the set up like it held the answers to everything. He started chopping huge irregular slabs off the bread with a rough motion that was doing more to wreak it than create slices. 

“That’s what you’re having?” Stiles asked, eyeing Derek’s handiwork.

Putting down the knife, Derek looked at what he’d accomplished then around for the sandwich fillings he hadn’t gotten out. There was a slight tinge to his cheeks as he mumbled, “Damn it.” Flicking a glance up, he noticed Stiles trying to hide a smile. “What?”

“You’re only having bread. Nothing else?” Stiles asked mildly.

Derek sniffed, tipping his chin up in defiance. “I don’t need anything else.” His act of aplomb was fairly spot on, Stiles was almost impressed, but the whole thing was ruined by the sliver of suppressed amusement coming through the claiming bond.

Stiles’ mouthed twitched further but he only replied, “Okay then, let me know how that goes for you,” before he got off the stool and started looking through the fridge.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, looking at him funny when Stiles held up sliced cheese and a cranberry chutney jar like they were trophies.

“Me? Nothing,” Stiles replied. “How’s that bread?”

Derek took a huge bite for show and chewed. “It’s good.” He swallowed. “It’s —”

“Dry, boring?” Stiles hip-checked Derek out of the way and took the bread from him. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Derek snorted and walked around the kitchen counter to sit where Stiles had been before. 

Stiles cut four perfect slices of bread, highlighting Derek’s own sad attempts without having to say anything. He eyed Derek through his lashes as he lined the slices up on the cutting board.

“Show-off,” Derek muttered, amusement spiking in the claim though he looked gruff and unimpressed.

“Shh, jealous-wolf, and let the master work his magic,” Stiles soothed.

“Master?”

Stiles gave Derek a cheeky grin, slathering chutney on the slices of bread. “I like that, say it again,” he purred.

Dropping his act, Derek chuckled. “I like this,” he said, after a pause. 

“Hmm?” Stiles knew what he was referring to but didn’t want to actually talk about it.

“This,” Derek pointed to Stiles and the sandwich making. “I like to see you this way.”

Stiles put the cheese slices on the chutney, then put the bread together. Pushing one sandwich across the cutting board and keeping one for himself, he said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Derek took the proffered sandwich and after giving both it and Stiles a wary look, took a bite. He expression changed to one of being pleasantly surprised. “This is really good.”

Stiles waggled his eyebrows. “Master.”

Derek grinned. “I like that, say it again.”

Unable to hold it in any longer when Derek was playing so nicely, Stiles laughed. “So about Argent,” he said, thinking it was a good time to bring it up. “Is he your friend?”

“Do you really want to talk about this?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles with a carefully neutral expression. “You’re pretty calm right now, sure you want to disrupt that?”

“What?” Stiles said, somewhat affronted. “I’m not the one trying to get out of discussing it, you are. For what reason, I have no idea.”

“Okay,” Derek agreed quickly. “We’ll talk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Derek gave Stiles a flat look, to which Stiles replied by picking up his sandwich and taking a huge bite.

“We’ve been through too much for it to be as simple as a friendship,” Derek started. “There's things I can't just forget or forgive. But Chris has proven he's got Scott’s back and he's helped out more than once. I feel obligated not to let him die at the hands of someone I could have stopped.”

Stiles considered that. “Makes sense,” he allowed. “My feelings on the other hand are a lot less complicated. I just don't like him. But you really shouldn’t worry so much. If Ramona has Argent, my dad will get him back.” 

“You seem strangely okay with your dad getting close to her,” Derek observed. It was almost but not quite, a question.

Stiles huffed, screwing up his face. He couldn’t explain his change of heart. “I can’t stop him from doing his job.”

“And if the fae has Chris?”

“He’ll be safer than if he was with her.”

“How so?”

“The fae won’t do anything to him, not without me.” 

Derek’s eyebrows did their questioning frowning thing, making Stiles want to smooth his fingers over them and take a moment to relish that look after fearing he’d never get the chance to see it again. It was still hitting him; all the little things he’d almost lost.

“There’s no reason for the fae to take Argent unless it did it for me,” he continued to explain. “It likes to gives me ‘gifts’.”

“It’ll give you Chris as a present??” Derek couldn’t have been more shocked.

Feeling all sorts of amused by the idea, Stiles made a noise of agreement. 

“Then you could save him,” Derek added.

The good feelings vanished. 

Stiles took the bread knife over to the sink and dropped it in, looking out the window into the forest. “I could,” he agreed, “but I won’t.”

“No?” 

“Nope.” Stiles cocked his head and looked at Derek curiously. “How are you making me tell you all this?”

“I’m not,” Derek disagreed, standing up and coming around the counter into the kitchen. “Ever since I woke from the poison, you’ve been more open. I think the fae’s hold on you has slipped.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Not this again. “Stop it, Derek.”

Derek closed his mouth, his frown in danger of obscuring his eyes completely.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stiles sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll prove to you the fae doesn’t have your bestie.”

“Stiles —”

“Nope.” He scooted around Derek and left the kitchen. “This needs to be sorted. I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“What if I’m right? What will you do?”

Stiles sneered. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” 

***

Stiles walked into the clearing, having arrived just outside the boundary trees. He was so annoyed at Derek thinking the worst of the fae yet again that his aim had been off. He looked around, his suspicions being confirmed. Neither the fae, nor Argent, were there.

Kicking snow out of the way, he walked over to the Nemeton stump. It had grown so much in the astral plane, signs of it were beginning to spill over into the physical world. There wasn’t anything to see, not with human sight, but Stiles could feel the Tree reaching up above him, aiming for the sky and roots stretching underneath the ground, solidifying their grip on the world.

Stiles opened the cellar door and jumped down the stairs, ignoring the blow up mattress with its blankets strewn haphazardly over the ground. Instead, he focussed on the Nemeton, stroking the exposed roots with reverence, the Tree’s presence slowly soothing his nerves. 

When he was feeling calmer, he ran a critical eye over the cellar. It was a bit of a mess. To give himself some time before heading back to the cabin, he decided to clean up a little. Picking up a green and brown rug that reminded him of the forest in Spring, Stiles started to shake it out when something heavy flipped out of its folds, nearly hitting his foot as it landed in the dirt. It was the obsidian knife which had belonged to Carlos. 

A strange and unsettling thing, Stiles could feel magic on the sharpest edge as soon as he picked it up, but the magic was foreign to him. Hartley had probably been correct in her assumption it had killed a snake demon. It felt like it had the possibility of such a history soaked into its very making. 

There was a soft footfall up above. 

Holding the knife in a steady grip, Stiles silently went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. The fae stared down at him and Stiles blew out the breath he’d been holding, tucking the knife into his back pocket. “At least you didn’t give me a heart attack this time,” he observed, climbing the stairs and stepping out onto the snow.

“We took your advisement in regards to your health,” the fae agreed. It shuffled its foot, making another purposeful noise, then grinned. “We did something that will please you,” it said, indicating with a playful wave.

Seeing something appear out of the corner of his eye, Stiles turned and found a magically bound and gagged Argent. “Well, fuck. Derek was right.” He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that. On the one hand, he’d been wrong. On the other, here was Argent, trussed up like a little piggie. 

Stiles cocked his head, the fae doing the exact same movement, as they both regarded their catch. 

On his knees in the snow, arms straight at his sides, Argent seemed a lot less threatening than he had in times past. His eyes were cold and hard as he stared at Stiles before he opened his mouth to speak. Though he looked to be saying something, no sound emerged. It was highly amusing and the expression of furious annoyance he shot towards the fae was even more so.

Stiles grinned at the sight of the big bad hunter being brought low before him. “Could you let him speak?” he asked the fae.

The fae gave Argent a black look. “This one deserves the binding. Such things he does say.”

Stiles chuckled, only able to imagine what Argent had done to annoy the fae in such a manner. “He does that. But I need to know something only he can tell me.”

The fae nodded in acquiesce and flicked its long fingers in Argent’s direction.

“Stiles!” Argent spluttered. “You’ve gone too far this time!”

“Me? What have I done?”

“You’re complacent in my abduction!”

“All up, I think abduction would be the least of my worries if it came down to a legal charge,” Stiles pointed out logically. “But I can’t say I’m all that worried about it.”

“This one was trying to find its way in,” the fae told him.

“What? No one’s even been close!” Stiles argued, quickly checking the grove's perimeter magics. “I feel nothing.”

In answer, the fae held out a small carved wooden ring. 

Stiles knew what it was immediately. Grabbing it, he advanced on Argent, waving the ring under his nose. “You dare to use Nemeton Wood?! Where’d you get this??”

Argent stared back defiantly, saying nothing but tipping his chin up a little bit as a slight smirk started to form on his face.

Stiles shot a look at the fae, who’s own smile was a lot harsher than Argent’s as it guessed what Stiles wanted and moved its fingers in a fluid dance.

Argent started choking.

“You’d better tell me,” Stiles ordered, “or I’ll let you suffocate, and they’ll never find your body.”

Argent got back his ability to speak and took a few seconds to heave in badly needed air. “You’re an evil little thing, Stiles, and now I have proof of it.”

“So what?” Stiles preened under the anger leveled at him. It tasted so fine as he drank it down. “You think you’ll ever be in a position to let anyone know? Now tell me, where. did. you. get. it?” With every word, he tapped Argent on the nose with the ring just to be spiteful. “I won’t ask again.”

“Who do you think gave it to me?” Deaton replied. “If you were even half as clever as you think you are, you’d have seen this coming.”

The truth of it hit Stiles and he rocked back on his heels. “Deaton.”

Argent neither confirmed nor denied, but the smug look of getting one over on his captors was telling enough.

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “He gave me all he had. He told the truth of it.” Looking at the ring closely, he took a minute to figure things out and the way Deaton had deceived him became clear. “It’s newly carved. He didn’t have it when he gave me the other pieces.” Eyes flashing with anger, Stiles hissed at Argent. “Where did he get the wood??”

Argent’s smug look was growing. “Argent is an old name in this town, I told you that before. I even mentioned our dealings with the druids. Really, Stiles, you dropped the ball on this one.”

Furious he’d been tricked in such a manner, Stiles let out a yell that echoed around the grove. He could feel it now; the ring was a cloaking tool, able to help the wearer find the Tree by using the magical pull between the Nemeton and the wood itself. “You’re both going to die for this,” he promised.

“Like Carlos Flores did, and the others?”

“Like they all did,” Stiles agreed, no longer caring to keep that particular secret.

Argent nodded, looking grim. “I thought so.”

“Is that what you were going to tell my dad?” Stiles asked. “That I killed your precious little Calavera minions?”

“I was going to get his help to find out the truth! Where it would have taken us was entirely your own doing.”

Striking out quickly, Stiles gripped Argent’s chin, digging his fingers in harshly. “Fuck you! You don’t get to decide my fate!”

“Any more than you get to decide mine!” 

In some kind of amazing maneuver, the magic binding of the fae not hindering him any longer, Argent managed to fling himself at Stiles, grappling him around the waist and shoving him backwards before letting go. 

Stiles slid over the snow, righting himself in time to see Argent stare at the obsidian knife he now held in his left hand, the knife he’d taken from Stiles’ back pocket.

“I know this blade,” Argent exclaimed, holding it out like a prize. “Here’s my proof you killed them. Your dad will have to listen to me now. They all will.”

Stiles pulled a face, unconcerned. “It’s just a knife. I’d never seen it before you tried to kill me with it.”

Argent frowned. “What?”

Raising his hands, Stiles shrugged, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, Officer, I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I have no idea why Chris Argent attacked me. Maybe he never got over his family dying.” He paused, as if listening to someone talk. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for him to die, I just wanted him to stop. I was only defending myself.” Stiles stopped talking and grinned. “Did I get that about right, do you think? I could get emotional if that would help sell it.”

Argent blinked. “You’re a monster.”

“Well, duh,” Stiles said, not happy with the title as he didn’t really agree that’s what he was, but wanting to goad Argent further. His next words were a lot of fun. “Really, Chris, you dropped the ball on this one.”

Without warning, Argent lunged at him. It was a strange move, not even very controlled, but he didn’t get far. The fae stepped in front of Stiles and touched Argent on the side of the head. He yelled in pain, stiffening for a moment, before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a heap.

Stiles pumped his fist in the air. “Oh, yeah!” He danced around, happy to be finally free of Argent’s continued scrutiny. Until something occurred to him. “He wasn’t contained by your magic.”

The fae gave him an indulgent look. “Was he not?”

Stiles thought back. “You let him go. Why?”

“It amuses us to play with humans. This one believed he had a chance of escaping, even when he clearly did not.” The glint in the fae’s eyes was as great as its sharp smile. “You enjoyed playing with him too, yes?”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, nodding. “fair enough.” Looking back at Argent, his smile was every bit as hard as the fae’s. It never got old seeing an enemy unconscious and unable to hurt him. He’d never get tired of it. “Into the Tree with him?” he asked, wanting Argent gone.

“It is your choice, as always,” the fae deferred. 

“Alright, Tree it is,” Stiles decided, rubbing his hands together. Grabbing Argent under the arms, he started to drag him, but only got a few feet before making a noise of defeat and dropping him like a hot potato. “We can’t kill him.” It was said with no little amount of disgust at himself.

The fae blinked its slanted eyes. “We don’t understand.”

Stiles cast about for a reason the fae would agree to. He couldn’t say killing Argent would upset Derek. That excuse wouldn’t be enough and Argent could end up being killed by the fae in a fit of pique at Stiles refusing to help. Then he realized he actually did have a good reason. “I owe him.”

The fae’s lips curled back. “You have debt owing to this human?”

“Yes. It was freely given in honorable exchange.” For the contents of a phone.

The fae’s eyes shone brightly, its voice a breeze over a frozen lake. “Then the human is untouchable. For now.”

“For now?”

“Discharge your debt, then we will capture him again and finish this.” The fae bent and touched Argent on the forehead, looking up at Stiles as it did so. “We have altered his memory. Your actions are no longer known.” It picked up the knife from where it had fallen and handed it to Stiles.

“You can do that?” Stiles asked as he took the knife, wincing as he realized how close he’d actually come to being exposed. If the fae hadn’t been there, he’d be in all sorts of trouble for admitting to killing Argent’s people. “How much will he remember?”

“Nothing of us,” the fae promised.

Stiles knew that was for the best but in those seconds after telling the truth he’d felt so free, so unburdened, that he had to remind himself why he was keeping up pretenses at all.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More quotes. It's a thing.
> 
> "Save the Cheerleader." - Heroes, T.V. series.
> 
> "Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave." - Caster Troy, 'Face Off' movie.


	14. The Assault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gunshot, misconceptions and accusations.

Stiles was sitting on the porch steps at the back of his house. The ambulance Derek had called was just leaving. Argent had been given the all clear, though the paramedics recommended going in for further scans because of the loss of memory he was experiencing. He’d declined. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because he was insufferable or because he remembered more than he was letting on.

“You’ll wreck your nails,” Derek told him, coming out of the house and sitting by his side.

Stiles dropped his hand from his mouth. His nails had been horrendous for quite some time because of stress biting. He didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

Derek nudged him with his leg. “You saved him.”

“Seems so,” Stiles agreed.

“I knew you would.”

Derek said it with such honest belief that it forced something into a tight ball inside Stiles and a twisted smile was all he could give in return.

“Hey.” Derek gave him a hug. “You did good.”

“Ye-p,” Stiles agreed. “That’s me, all round nice guy.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “You had a moment out there, didn’t you.”

Stiles turned his head away and started to pick at the cuticle of one thumb.

“It’s okay,” Derek told him. “You don’t have to explain. The thing that matters is what you ended up doing.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Stiles admitted. 

“I know.”

Nudging closer, Derek lay his arm across Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles leant into it, hugging Derek’s leg to him.

“The fae was there,” he said quietly, one finger tracing a seam in Derek’s jeans leg. 

“Mmmm,” Derek replied, not seeming the least bit surprised. His arm felt heavy along the back of Stiles’ neck but not in a bad way.

“You were right,” Stiles admitted, letting the moment ease its way into confession. “It had taken Argent. He’d been snooping around near the grove, trying to get in.”

“How did he plan to do that?” Derek asked. “You’ve stopped anyone from getting anywhere near it.”

Stiles held out the wooden ring, letting Derek take it for a closer look. 

“Nemeton Wood,” Derek surmised, putting the ring on his little finger. “How’d he get it?”

“Deaton carved it for him.”

“What?” Derek handed the ring back.

“From wood Argent had.” Stiles slipped it into his pocket.

“Fuck, Stiles. I’m sorry.” 

Stiles made a rueful face. “I shouldn’t be surprised that I was tricked by the two of them. I just feel stupid because Argent almost got into the grove. The fae stopped him.”

“Then what, let him go, only to change it’s mind and cause a car accident?” Derek sounded uncertain.

“It likes to play,” Stiles explained. 

“Hmm, like another fae I know.” Derek squeezed the back of Stiles’ neck with a gentle hand.

Stiles closed his eyes at the pressure, beginning to smile because he knew what Derek was getting at and it was still funny. “Liam’s too easy,” he said. 

“You hurt him with your jibes,” Derek rebuked.

“I know.” Stiles side-eyed Derek, his crooked smile growing at recalling Liam’s almost uncontrollable anger. “I think you don’t like it when I have fun with him.” 

“I’m not going to rise to your baiting,” Derek answered. His hand remained against Stiles’ nape. “What was the fae going to do with Argent?”

Stiles pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.”

“You started it.”

Derek’s thumb rubbed up into his hairline. Stiles’ eyes fluttered at the sensation that travelled down his spine.

“I know what you’re doing,” he warned.

“Stop me if you want,” Derek challenged.

Stiles looked at him, doing nothing as the touch grew warmer and heavier, his breathing evening out and slowing down. Their claiming bond flowed between them like rich treacle, drowning the urges that called for Stiles to push and push until Derek grew frustrated and angry. He felt secure and safe in their own little saturated bubble.

“The fae wanted to kill Argent. It’s got a very negative view of humans,” he finally said.

Derek considered him carefully. “Did it want you to help?”

“Yeah.” Stiles rolled his head on his neck, feeling Derek’s knuckles on the back of his skull. “I considered it.”

“You didn’t though. Why not?”

Wanting to be closer, Stiles leant forwards. Derek brought their foreheads together, the bridges of their noses touching. The hand on his nape flexed, and Stiles shuddered. 

“Because I would have had to lie to you,” he admitted. “I’m tired of lying.”

“Seems like an interesting thing for a fae to say.”

“Does it? I suppose so.”

A slow kiss found its way onto his lips, Derek pulling back to look him in the eye though the hand on his neck remained steady and sure. “I’m proud of you.”

Stiles thought of the people he had killed. “What if I had done it?”

“Like Brine, you mean? Putting the bad guy into the Nemeton?”

It was somewhat terrifying how Derek knew Stiles so well. Had he guessed, or was this just conjecture?

“Yeah, like Brine.”

Derek’s hand left the back of his neck and Stiles wasn’t sure he didn’t whimper at the loss. Their bubble didn’t break but it stretched, the timing between the two of them hitching. He wished he hadn’t asked.

“We’re not in an easy situation here,” Derek answered, staring out at the yard. The fact he was hinting at something other than what they were talking about was very obvious, though Stiles had no idea what it may be. “I’m on your side, no matter what. I know the good heart you possess is still there, even if you can’t remember for yourself.”

“Okay,” Stiles answered, confused and feeling like he’d managed to put his foot in it somehow.

Derek looked at the back door. “Your dad’s home.”

At the moment, Argent was waiting inside the house so Stiles’ dad could take his statement about the car accident. Stiles had almost forgotten it was the reason he was still there. He needed to be in on that conversation.

With their serenity bubble well and truly burst, Stiles’ heart started thumping rapidly.

“Is there something you don’t want your dad to know?” Derek asked, immediately alerted to Stiles’ rising anxiety.

Stiles frowned, his mouth pulling down. Enough secret telling for one day. “Nope, everything’s fine.”

Derek eyed him. “You need to go in there?”

“Nah.” Stiles pressed down on his leg to stop it jiggling.

Derek stood up, surprising Stiles with the sudden move. “I’m going to go. I don’t suppose you want to come with?”

Stiles shook his head, having to fight not looking at the back door. “I’ll go back to the grove, check how far Argent got in.”

A knowing look on his face that Stiles didn’t like, Derek nodded. “Okay. Will you be home in time for dinner? I’ll get us something special, kind of a celebratory thing for my being awake.”

Honest joy at the invitation smothered Stiles’ thoughts of duplicity. Standing up, he searched Derek’s eyes, finding his happiness reflected back at him. “That would be awesome.”

They kissed softly, Stiles sighing into it.

“Then we can continue this, which is all I’ve wanted to do all day,” Derek admitted when they took a breath.

“No argument here.” 

***

After Derek left, Stiles used his illusions and crept into the house. His dad and Argent were just starting the police side of things as he leant up against the living room wall.

“Alright,” his dad said, tapping his notebook, “we can discuss what actually happened and then I’ll do some wrangling to make it seem believable.”

“I appreciate you doing this,” Argent told him.

Stiles’ dad flipped the notebook pages over. “It’s as much for the town as it is for you. The supernatural can’t be known, it’s as simple as that.”

Argent looked suitably impressed. “You think my car accident was caused by something other than me loosing control?”

“Oh, I think you lost control,” Stiles’ dad agreed. “But I’m betting it had something to do with some kind of shape-shifter, creature or whatever. The odds are good when the person who crashes is a hunter.”

“Ex-hunter.” Argent smiled wryly. “I think you’re right. But I don’t remember.”

“Your memory loss is real?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s from a bump to the head.” Argent turned his face and pointed to a spot of frost bite on his temple, right where the fae had touched him. “Unless this is something that naturally occurs with head injuries.”

Stiles rubbed at his own temple, a vague memory trying to surface. Something to do with ice on his own skin … An ache started to make itself known behind his eyes and he blinked, dropping his hand.

His dad frowned. “You were found in the forest and it is Winter. It could be the result of exposure.”

“It could,” Argent agreed. “But I’m more inclined to think it isn’t. Stiles found me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. You should thank him, you may have died otherwise.”

“Of that I’m less certain than you. Don’t you think it odd that I crash my car, which neither of us believe was an accident, then I go missing only for your son to find me, and I can’t remember anything about it?”

Stiles’ dad paused in his writing. “Are you saying Stiles had something to do with your accident?”

“I believe he’s more than ankle deep in whatever is really going on,” Argent replied.

Biting at his lips, Stiles shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

“You’d better have proof to what you’re saying,” his dad warned. “What do you mean, what’s really going on?”

Argent sat forward. “I wanted to talk to you this morning about three people who work for me. They’re missing, going on two days now. That’s four people, including Ramona Meahn’s niece who have suddenly vanished.”

“Stefanie Meahn has more than likely left town of her own choice.”

“And if she didn’t? Ramona reported her niece missing, didn’t she? And gave you the name of someone she believed took Stefanie. Your son?”

“Unsubstantiated,” Stiles’ dad growled. “I’d like to know which of my deputes is talking to you. But what’s this got to do with your three?”

“They were the ones I hired to keep Stiles and Derek safe. To patrol Derek’s land, to make sure Ramona’s people didn’t come back. If you recall, Stiles was against the idea.”

“And you ignored him,” Stiles’ dad pointed out. “He is right; you go the extra mile in regards to him. Including trying to get me to believe he has something to do with four missing people who may not be missing at all.”

“Believe me, Noah, they’re missing. And your son should be worried, because these people are connected to a group that don’t take kindly to one of their own being taken down.”

“Are you implying he killed them??” Stiles’ dad stood up, glaring at Argent. “You need to leave. I’ll wrap up the accident report with what I’ve already got. I suggest you stay away from Stiles, or you’ll find yourself dealing with a harassment complaint. And that’s only for starters.”

Argent stood but made no move to go. “I’m not saying he did it, I’m saying he knows what happened to them. I believe they’re all dead. Including Stefanie Meahn. This is what I’m trying to work out, Noah! You can see the connections as clearly as I can. It all points to Stiles!”

“Get out of my house.”

“Noah —”

“It’s Sheriff, to you.”

Argent lowered his head. “Right after I called you, I went into the preserve near Derek’s land, trying to find evidence of what happened. I remember doing that, then nothing else until I woke in your backyard with Derek telling me I’d been in an accident.”

Stiles frowned. Argent was lying. He’d been trying to get into the Nemeton grove, not looking for his missing people near Derek’s cabin. Unless he’d done that first. But why the grove at all; did he suspect he’d find Carlos and Hartley there? Stiles hoped that was it and not something more nefarious as to why he’d been sneaking around, but considering Deaton made him a ring specifically for that purpose it seemed likely Argent had more than one reason for his actions. Stiles should have questioned him more thoroughly while he had the chance, that was a wasted opportunity he probably wouldn’t get again.

“You’ve already confessed to memory loss,” Stiles’ dad pointed out to Argent. “That’s not evidence of any wrong doing on my son’s part.”

“What if Stiles caused the accident?”

“Now I know you’re full of it,” his dad said, annoyance turning to disgust.

“You need to ask him, Sheriff. Ask him what this is,” Argent pointed to the frost bite again. “I’m positive it’s connected to my memory loss.”

Stiles’ dad pressed his lips together in anger. “I will throw you out.”

“Wait!” Argent put his hand into his jacket pocket. “I also have this.” He pulled out the obsidian knife.

Stiles gasped, one hand going uselessly to his back pocket. How the hell had Argent taken the knife this time?? He’d been unconscious after the fae memory-wiped him and hadn’t woken up until he was in Stiles’ backyard. There just wasn’t any logical way for him to have it.

“It belongs to one of the men who worked for me.”

Stiles’ dad eyed the knife then said disinterestedly, “I’m failing to see the point.”

Argent shook the knife as he held it out. “Do you know where I got this from?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. I went into the forest with something I’m now missing and came out with something completely different. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“What it seems to me, is that you need to go to hospital and get those scans.” Stiles’ dad urged Argent towards the door. “You’re confused and possibly in delayed shock. I’ll get someone to drive you.”

Argent turned back on the doorstep. “I’m not in shock. I know what I know. Your son is involved with four disappearances. The knife is a clue.”

“What it is, is just a rather strange-looking weapon which I suggest you keep at home, otherwise I’ll write you up for carrying concealed.”

“This isn’t going to end well for your son, Noah. You should help me on this.”

Stiles’ dad shook his head, jaw set and eyes hard. “I suggest you let this go for your own sake, Chris. We’re done here.” 

Shutting the door in Argent’s face, Stiles’ dad then leant back against the door. As he stood there, he seemed to age before Stiles’ eyes, looking so drawn and tired it hurt to look at him.

Stiles was furious at Argent. So much for doing the ‘right’ thing. He should have just killed him.

***

Sitting on the sofa in Derek’s cabin, Stiles watched the fire dancing in the fireplace. He hadn’t been able to comfort his dad without letting on he’d been witness to everything, so feeling rather helpless he’d gone straight to Derek, hoping for some comfort of his own. Derek had started the fire, warmed up their celebratory dinner of Chinese take-a-way and gotten Stiles to eat it, all without either of them saying more than a few words.

Taking the empty take-a-way container from Stiles’ hands, Derek put it down on the floor with his own. “How did it go? Did Argent tell your dad something you didn’t want him to?”

Stiles shook his head, then nodded and sighed. “Just more of the same,” he answered without thinking. When his brain caught up to his mouth he gave Derek a wide-eyed look, caught out. 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Give me some credit,” he said dryly. “It was pretty obvious what you were planning.”

“You’re alright with me listening-in to a confidential police reporting?”

“Like you’ve never done that before.” Derek shifted a little on the sofa, leaning closer. “I’m more interested in you being okay. You seem rather worried.”

Eyes drifting over to the fire, Stiles shrugged a little. “Argent upset my dad.” 

“Did your dad believe whatever it was Chris was telling him?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Then I’m sure your dad’s okay,” Derek said gently. 

Something occurred to Stiles and he put his head in his hands, a groan coming out before he could stop it. “He’ll probably talk to you about it.” There was no way Stiles could stop that from happening. “Or Argent will. He wants my family to think the worst of me.”

“Won’t ever happen.” Derek seemed so sure.

“Won’t it?” Stiles looked up at him. “He’s very convincing.”

“We’re not that easy to manipulate.”

That didn’t necessarily make Stiles feel any better but he smiled at Derek, hoping to drop the subject before he was asked if he’d done what Argent accused him of. “I’m sorry, this dinner was about celebrating you waking up, I spoiled it.”

Derek shook his head, unconcerned. “It was about us being back together. Which we are. Nothing’s spoiled. Besides, it’s hard to ruin a dinner of re-heated take-a-way. It’s not exactly five stars.”

“I like honey chicken,” Stiles argued, sticking up for Derek’s choice of meal. “They found honey in Egyptian tombs. Food of the Gods. Can’t get more celebratory than that.”

Derek snorted a little, scooting across the sofa, and Stiles stretched out his legs on either side to make room. “That time we haven’t had, we have it now,” he pointed out.

“We do,” Derek agreed, leaning in.

They both paused, waiting. When nothing happened, they shared a smile.

“Thank, God,” Stiles murmured, closing the distance. He wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips, pulling him closer.

Derek let himself be guided. “Should we take this to the bedroom?”

“And give someone a chance to interrupt??” Stiles exclaimed. “No way.” They kissed for a long moment, Stiles happy he’d perfected breathing through his nose. The kiss was soft, languid, they had all the time in …

Derek’s phone rang.

“Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it,” Stiles chanted, holding on tighter. 

Derek looked at him apologetically.

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles warned. “I will continue this on my own, without you, using many different positions and as much lube as I can. I will take hours and you will miss out on all of it!”

Groaning, Derek closed his eyes. He was hard against Stiles, a line of thick heat pressing through both their jeans. “God, Stiles, don’t.”

“No, you don’t.”

The phone kept ringing.

“I’m not joking, Derek.”

“I can’t not answer it.” Derek reached for his phone on the side table. “What if it’s your dad?”

Stiles tried to hit the phone out of his hand, but Derek sat up and looked at the screen while fending him off. 

“It’s Cue.”

“Good,” Stiles growled. “Let it ring out.”

“He’s your pack,” Derek chided, answering the call. “Hello?”

Flinging up his hands, Stiles untangled himself from Derek and got up off the sofa. “He’s not my fucking pack! I’m not a werewolf!” He stalked down the hallway to the bedroom. 

“Stiles!” Derek called a few seconds later. “Cue needs you.”

Stiles closed his eyes, lay back on the bed and put his hand down his pants, squeezing. He had not been joking, he was doing this with or without his wolf.

“Stiles.”

“Fuck off!” Puling his hand free, Stiles opened his fly and pulled his briefs down under his balls, the elastic snug like a cradle. Licking his palm, he started stroking, the slide of cold spit on his dick making him shiver.

“Stiles.”

Derek was standing above him, phone in one hand. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist, pulling it off his dick, and growled, shoving the phone next to his ear. 

Stiles hissed at him. 

Derek looked stubbornly only at his face, not at Stiles’ dick chubbing up practically under his nose. “Cue’s in trouble, stop being like this and help him.”

Stiles stopped trying to twist his wrist out of Derek’s grasp but stared defiantly up at him. He had another hand after all.

Through the phone Cue called franticly, “Stiles? Derek? Shit guys, whoever’s listening, they’re coming back, just … come save us, okay? Before they —” There was a choked off squeal and a slight tussle, then the phone went silent and the call ended. 

“What the fuck was that?” Stiles demanded, sitting up.

“Ramona has Cue.” Derek stepped back, giving him room to stand. “He’s being held at her house, and he mentioned a cousin.” 

Stiles pushed past Derek, doing his jeans up at the same time. “Was it Bonnie?” he questioned, moving quickly down the hallway to the front door. “The cousin, was it Bonnie?”

“I think so.” Derek put on his jacket while leveling a glare at him. “Damn it, Stiles, tell me what this is about!”

Stiles slipped his shoes on. Derek had put them near the door at some point, trying to get him to look more ‘normal’ in public. 

“Talk to me!” Derek snarled. 

The chill in Stiles’ bones made him snappy. “It’s a family dinner,” he quipped.

Stalking forwards, Derek shoved him up against the door. Stiles winced, but didn’t fight it. 

“Put aside whatever shit is making you so obstinately pig-headed right now. I can’t help you if I don’t know the details.”

Stiles gritted out, “Fine.” He shrugged out of Derek’s hold. “Bonnie agreed to spy on Ramona for us, it looks like she was found out and now Cue’s in trouble. If you’re done with the third degree I’m going to go get them before they tell Ramona stuff I don’t need her knowing.”

Derek only seemed slightly surprised by this, as if nothing Stiles told him now could rattle him. “Is that the only reason we’re going?” he asked, while picking up the cabin keys.

Stiles gave him a look and threw open the front door, jumping down the steps onto the forest floor. 

Night had crept up on them during dinner and the stars winked brightly in a clear sky. The forest was still, the lights from the cabin lighting up sporadic patches of forest floor and nearby trees. 

Running fast down the track, his feet making no noise, Stiles thought ahead. They’d take his jeep and he’d drive to Ramona’s house, he’d sneak in, grab Cue and Bonnie and kill whoever got in his way. Hopefully, that would include Ramona. 

Getting to his jeep first, Stiles was sitting inside it, engine going, headlights on, when Derek slid onto the passenger seat. Deftly ignoring any safe driving skills he may have had previously, Stiles drove backwards down the forest side-road, faster than normal, backing onto the main road without pausing for any possible oncoming traffic. Straightening the jeep out too fast made it rock on its shocks before he accelerated away, tires protesting on the cold road. 

Derek’s eyebrows were a thing of expressive questioning beauty. 

As he drove, Stiles found his hands clenching on the steering wheel, his right knee twitching with suppressed adrenalin he couldn’t control. Then a warm weight pressed down on it. As Derek gripped his leg, Stiles breathed out. 

“You’d better not be planning on running into danger, because that’s not happening,” Derek announced.

Stiles glanced at him, then pretended all his attention was on driving.

“Where are we going?” Derek persisted.

“Reddick Mound. Ramona’s staying there.” Stiles noticed that no real surprise greeted his words. “Which, I’m guessing, you already know.”

Derek didn’t even look chagrined at being caught out. “How do you know?”

“Cue,” Stiles told him, not seeing any issue with revealing his source. “Unlike some, he thought I should know.”

Derek hummed, ignoring the jibe, and leant back in his seat, his hand slipping up Stiles’ thigh. “Why is Cue’s cousin spying for you?”

“It was either that or her running away. She’s convinced Ramona killed her other cousin and wants to do the same thing to her.” Stiles turned onto another road, hardly slowing down. The jeep took the corner just fine but he needed to do some deft maneuvering to avoid crossing onto the wrong side.

“Slow down before we crash,” Derek demanded. “Cue will be okay. So will Bonnie. You need to breathe and start thinking rationally.”

“You think I’m not?”

Derek rubbed his hand soothingly along Stiles’ leg. That’s probably what he thought he was doing, but really it just made Stiles want to pull over and continue their interrupted sofa time. 

“I think you’re scared for them,” Derek told him.

Stiles snorted. “You’re way off the mark there. I’m annoyed they got themselves into trouble and expect me to get them out of it. I’m also pissed off.”

“Why?”

“I told you why.”

“Because they may tell Ramona things about you. But what do they know?”

Stiles couldn’t answer. It made sense in his head. Ramona was doing this to get to him.

“I want you to admit it,” Derek pushed. “You’re scared for Cue and Bonnie.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Stiles hissed in annoyance, glamor dropping before he forced it back on. His eyes stayed shinning, reflective in the rearview mirror as he shifted angrily in his seat. 

“You need to say it, Stiles.”

The brakes squealed as Stiles slammed his foot down and ran the jeep up onto a grass embankment. They slid further than he’d intended due to an unnoticed ice slick, but he managed to keep them from hitting anything before they finally stopped. The engine spluttered and died. He turned on Derek and threw up his hands. “What the hell is this?!”

Derek’s eyes had a ring of blue as he stared Stiles down. “Admit it.”

“Ramona’s going to kill them while we sit here.”

“You don’t believe that,” Derek said knowingly and Stiles couldn’t refute it. “She’s too smart.”

“Then there’s no need for me to be worried then, is there?”

“Not killing doesn’t mean not hurting. You know they have nothing on you that’s damaging. This,” Derek waved a hand at Stiles and his jeep, “is about you wanting them safe.”

Stiles crossed his arms. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck does it even matter??”

Derek’s eyes turned wholly blue, shining bright. “Because I want you to know it, to acknowledge you care about someone other than yourself. It’s important.”

Stiles blinked, his sight going back to human. “That’s easy. I care about you and my Dad.”

“No one else?” Derek leant over the gear box into Stiles’ personal space. “You need to remember you care for others, Stiles. That ability is still in you, hidden, but there. I want you to recognise your actions for what they are.”

“Why?” Stiles wasn’t agreeing, but he was curious as to Derek’s reasoning.

There was the slightest pause before Derek hid what he was thinking behind lowered brows. “Ramona is clever, if it comes to it, she’ll use it against you. Understanding what you’re feeling will make it harder for her.” It was obvious there was something else Derek wanted to say, but why he’d chosen not to, Stiles couldn’t guess. They were inches away from each other and the air felt thick between them. “Admit it, Stiles.”

“I — this is stupid.” Stiles’ throat stuck on the last word. His gaze dropped to Derek’s lips, and he licked his own. “We’re wasting time.”

“We are,” Derek agreed. His mouth was so close but when Stiles swayed forward, he preempted it and moved back, keeping the distance between them. “Admit it.”

Eyes narrowing, Stiles glared. “No.” He shoved himself back and turned towards the steering wheel. Starting his jeep, he was thankful beyond words when it turned over on the first try.

“Stiles, what —”

“Shut up, Derek.”

The bitterness of annoyance and hurt filled the jeep’s cabin and Stiles couldn’t distinguish Derek’s from his own.

***

“The rest of the pack should be here,” Derek told Stiles as they got out of the jeep. “We should have told your dad.”

“Rest of? Thought you weren’t part of Scott’s pack anymore. I know I’m not,” Stiles snipped. “And what a good idea, inviting him. Let’s bring the guy I can’t stand to a potential fight, maybe I’ll char-broil him a bit more because he’ll do something to piss me off. Like breathing. But at least then I’d know for certain if I could control lightning, so there’s an upside.”

Stiles had parked at the bottom of Reddick Mound to avoid anyone spotting the jeep, and was planning on using illusions and speed to get up the hill and inside Ramona’s in a matter of minutes. Derek talking rubbish did nothing to help his concentration as he tried to picture what may happen once they were inside the house. He’d only caught a brief glimpse of the layout when he’d absconded with Stefanie and was trying to remember details.

“Your dad could have come here officially and arrested everyone,” Derek argued. 

Wrapping illusions around them both, Stiles started jogging, upping the pace when Derek followed. The sooner he had Cue back, the better.

“I’m not bringing my dad into this,” Stiles argued as they ran. “Ramona would have contingency plans in place for that eventuality. Everyone in the house will say what she wants them to say; that nothing is wrong. The most my dad could do would be to take Cue back to his carers, leaving Bonnie alone. He’d need child protection orders to go further without evidence of danger to her life.”

“So we’re doing this for Bonnie’s safety?” Derek ran faster to keep up.

Stiles grit his teeth. “No, this is about keeping us safe. You and me.”

“Yet you can’t tell me why Ramona talking to Cue or Bonnie would be dangerous to us.”

“You think she’s just talking? She stabbed Cue, Derek!”

“Hmmm. So you agree now it’s for their safety that we’re going in?”

They’d reached the road Ramona’s house was on and Stiles stopped running. He turned on Derek and glared. “I will do this by myself if you keep pushing. I’ll make it so you can’t find the place and I will leave you here.”

Derek’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.”

Not liking the look on Derek’s face and feeling suddenly contrite, Stiles pinched the area between his eyes. “No, I’m sorry … I wouldn’t.”

Touching him on the shoulder, Derek reminded him, “We’re together in this. Do you have a plan that’s more than just breaking and entering?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” It had just come to Stiles. It was a stupid plan and put everyone at risk. But the stupidity of it could work in their favor. “I think it’s time I had a chat with Ramona.”

Derek shook his head. “No way.”

“It has to happen at some point, Derek,” Stiles reasoned. “We can’t stop her without a confrontation, you know that’s not how these things work. She’s been actively working towards it like all bad guys do. It’s practically their modus operandi.”

“So what? You want to help her achieve her goals by giving yourself up?”

“Who said anything about giving myself up? I’m going to take her out, Der.”

“You’re going to go in there and kill her?” Derek sounded slightly horrified.

Stiles tipped his head, smiling gently in reassurance. “Yes. That’s exactly it. I’ll need you to back me up. I’m thinking I can get to Bonnie and Cue and leap us all out of there right after Ramona dies.”

“But it’s not daytime. No sun,” Derek pointed out.

“I can leap to the Nemeton any time, day or night,” Stiles explained. “I think it’s because the connected is so strong. I’ll bring us all there.”

Derek didn’t seem put at ease. If anything, his frown grew. “How are you going to kill her?” 

Stiles twisted his mouth as he thought, then held up his hand. “I guess I’m strong enough to punch through her chest to her heart. You ever done that or do you just do bank walls?”

Ignoring the tease about their past, Derek was definitely looking a little ill as he said, “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Why, what’s the big deal?”

“You’re talking about killing someone, Stiles! It’s wrong, that’s why.”

“No, it’s not. It’s pretty simple, I grant you that, but not wrong. Revengeful, sure. Pragmatical, absolutely. Logical, yeah, so why not? She’s the bad guy, we kill the bad guys.” Stiles didn’t understand Derek’s increasing look of horror. “I don’t see what the issue is. Can’t you see with her gone, you’re safe?”

“We don’t kill people, Stiles.”

“Um, I distinctly remember us doing just that more than a few times, Derek.”

“They were supernaturally evil!”

“Humans get a pass, then? What about what I did to Brine? You told me that was a good thing.” Stiles frowned and rubbed at his forehead. “Or didn’t I tell you about him? I did right?” There was a stab of worry his memory wasn’t correct before Derek took Stiles’ hands in his own. 

“You told me.”

Stiles breathed out, his worry dissipating. He didn’t need to start making up memories on top of loosing them.

“But Stiles, this is different. This is killing in cold blood. Going into someone’s house and taking their life. It’s murder, and I don’t want you doing it. It’s wrong.”

“It’s wrong?” Stiles couldn’t see it. 

“Yes.”

Dropping his gaze, Stiles tried to work it out but all he could see was the very easy means to an end. Everything would be so much better with Ramona dead.

“How about we compromise?” Derek suggested, sounding like he was close to pleading.

“In what way?”

“We go in, we use your illusions to get to Bonnie and Cue, then if you think you can transport us out, do that, and no one needs to die.”

“Seems pretty anti-climatic.”

“I’ll take ‘Less Drama’ for five hundred,” Derek deadpanned.

“We’ll do it your way,” Stiles agreed instantly, with a wide smile.

“We will?”

“Only because you just referenced a game show, and I’m so proud of you right now.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Stiles quickly kissed Derek’s nose. “Just you wait, soon you’ll be humming show themes.”

“Which one’s Ramona’s house?” Derek asked, starting to walk again.

Stiles followed, a bit more pep in his step than before. “Admit it, Der, you know the score to Jeopardy!, don’t you? You’re a closet Trebek fan!”

***

The grounds guards were conspicuously absent when they got to Ramona’s property, and the front door was unlocked and opened smoothly to Stiles’ hand. “Can you say, ‘obvious trap’?” he observed to Derek, stepping inside.

“We should go,” Derek whispered, even though no one could hear them through the sound illusion.

They both jumped a little when a woman in a white dress suit appeared in the front foyer. “Stiles and friend?” she said to the air where they stood. “Please come in, Ramona is waiting for you in the parlor.” She waved them in the right direction and then left the room.

Stiles mouthed, “Parlor?” to himself, stuck on the image of ladies in flouncy skirts and men in tights.

“We should definitely go,” Derek said again. 

“And leave Cue and Bonnie? Didn’t we already discuss this?” 

“That was before it was a trap, which we just walked right in to. And which you don’t seem all that surprised about.” Derek followed Stiles through an archway.

Looking at the opulent decor around them, Stiles hummed. “I thought it may be. Not taking Cue’s phone away from him until he had time to make his call to us was very cliche.”

Derek’s expression turned dark. “You didn’t think to mention that before we decided on this plan?”

“I knew you’d never go for it if I did,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “But I’m also surprised it didn’t occur to you.”

“I’m getting tired of you manipulating me, Stiles.”

“What?” Stiles gave Derek an incredulous look. “I didn’t.”

“What would you call it then? If you feel so free to leave me out of things I should know, doesn’t that say something about the trust we share?” 

Stiles huffed in indignation, going to defend himself further, but a big tall man standing outside a door caught his attention. They’d obviously reached the parlor. He looked the guy over, noting the gun in pride of place in its hip holster, before dropping his illusions. 

The giant didn’t even blink at two people suddenly appearing in front of him. He just looked them over and stepped aside, opening the door for them in one smooth flourish.

With Derek a step behind him, Stiles entered the room.

Ramona was waiting for them on a settee, dark stockings and red pumps making her legs seem incredibly long. In direct contrast, her skirt was short and neatly laundered, without a wrinkle as it flared above the knee. She wore a top Lydia would have killed for and her hair was coiled into a large tight bun at the nape of her neck, a collar necklace with a golden stone resting at her throat.

All up, the effect of her posing as she was, ankles crossed, hands held demurely in her lap, she came across as nothing so much as a spider waiting for her food to wander into her web.

Ramona tipped her head, her smile just as sharp as her eyes when she motioned for Stiles to sit across from her on a matching settee. “Stiles,” she welcomed. “Derek, you’re looking quite well. Surprisingly.”

“I’m hard to kill,” Derek told her, trying to stop Stiles from sitting down on the settee. 

Stiles was quicker and slid onto the seat, ignoring the almost subvocal growl that his actions produced. “Why the elaborate invite?” he asked straight out.

“We need to talk,” Ramona told him, “and a more direct method may not have granted me the opportunity I was aiming for. Gavin was correct in saying you are a difficult subject. It seems that difficulty extends to your choice in mate, family and friends.”

“When you say difficult?”

“I mean, hard to pin down, hard to figure out.”

“You had me pinned down pretty well at the dam,” Stiles wasn’t afraid to point out. “And at the cabin.”

“Yes, I did.” Ramona agreed. “But I haven’t yet learnt what makes you strong. Only what makes you weak.” Her eyes flicked over to Derek, standing by Stiles’ side. 

“Some would say that’s the same thing,” Stiles noted. 

“Some would.”

“But not you.”

“No, Stiles. Not me.” Ramona stood calmly and walked a little distance away. “Ben,” she called, “bring in my nephew and niece.”

A door opposite to the one Stiles and Derek had entered, swung open. Bonnie and Cue were shoved through it before a man followed them into the room.

“Stiles!” Cue called out and grabbed Bonnie by the hand, leading her quickly over to Stiles and sitting down. If he sat too close, Stiles let it pass, keeping his attention firmly on Ramona.

“It seems, Stiles, that you’ve been busy sowing doubt in my niece’s mind about my intentions. It needs to be remedied and what better way then to have you tell her yourself.”

Stiles snorted. “I don’t think so.”

Ramona’s eyes narrowed. “But I do.”

“Do people get away with disagreeing with you?” Stiles asked. “Or do you just kill them, like you did your niece?” 

The lie felt good when Ramona’s spine stiffened. “That wasn’t me and we both know it.” 

“Do we?” 

Stiles had to admit, he was having fun. Hairline cracks were beginning to show in Ramona’s facade and he wanted to press harder to see them widen. He opened his mouth to say something that was probably unwise when Derek put a hand on his shoulder, reminding him why they were there.

“Sorry to cut this short, Rammy,” Stiles said, loving how Ramona’s face pinked slightly in anger, “but we’re going to go now. I’ve had my fill of megalomaniacs and don’t care to waste any more time with your particular brand of psychosis.” He placed his hand on Cue’s shoulder, happy to see Bonnie was still holding her cousin as tight as she could. “I just came for Cue and Bonnie and now we’re going to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Ramona disagreed. “Until further notice, you are now my guest.” She gestured to her man, Ben, and he raised a gun, pointing it right at Derek. “Wolfsbane bullets,” she mused. “There’s something about them, don’t you think? Your werewolf may have lived through his poisoning, but how will he do with a bullet in his brain?”

Stiles hissed and dropped his glamor, standing up and clenching his fists. “Try it and you’ll end up dead,” he promised.

“See, Bonnie?” Ramona preened. “The monster shows his true face, threatening your family, and so easily, too. Can you imagine he gave Stefanie any quarter? This is the creature you cling to, hoping it will save you from a fate I have no intentions of dolling out. But he does. He will kill you, Bonnie. Just like he killed your cousin.”

Stiles could have kicked himself for walking right into her set-up. But he didn’t back down, silently gaging how fast he’d have to move to get Derek out of range of the bullet.

Behind him, Cue whispered fiercely, “Don’t listen to her, Bons, she lies.”

“Not about this,” Ramona purred. “Come back to us, Bonnie. All is forgiven and forgotten. We each of us have moments of doubt, but we’ll help put you right.”

“I don’t want to,” Bonnie spoke up, surprising nearly everyone in the room. “I don’t want to be a hunter. I don’t want to be like you!”

Stiles let one side of his mouth curl up in a satisfied smile, which he took great delight in letting Ramona see but not Bonnie or Cue.

Ramona shot him a glare of cold fire, before sneering at her niece. “You will do as I say.”

“No, I won’t and you can’t make me!” It seemed Bonnie was growing a spine as Stiles watched.

“We’ll discuss this later.” 

“Stiles,” Derek said, “we should leave. Now.”

Agreeing, Stiles went to touch Cue. 

A shot was fired, the bullet flying past Stiles’ shoulder to embed itself in the wood panelling behind the settee. 

Eyes wide, Stiles spun around to Ben, who’d just missed winging him. “Holy fuck, dude. What the hell??”

Ben watched him with absolutely no expression, gun still drawn and now pointing at Cue.

“What are you playing at?” Stiles hissed at Ramona.

“I never play, Stiles,” she replied, cool and collected once more. “I plan for what I want and then do whatever is necessary in order to achieve it.”

Stiles stepped closer to her, drawing another growl from Derek, but also making Ben aim the gun back at him instead of Cue, who was scrunched down as far as he could go in the settee, Bonnie behind him, hiding her face. So much for backbone.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked. “You’ve never actually said.”

“I wondered when you’d ask,” Ramona chuckled. “Everyone eventually does. Then comes the pleading and the bargaining. It’s all to no avail, but par for the course.”

“I promise I won’t beg, nor bargain with you,” Stiles said softly. “I will kill you, though. That’s also a promise. And you should know; fae don’t break their word.”

“That’s the second threat on my life. I am curious, Stiles, how many times have you vowed just that to yourself at night, crying over your mate, wondering if he’d live or die?”

Stiles hissed through his sharp teeth, Derek’s growl a second behind. 

Ramona chuckled. “I like you, Stiles,” she said, waving a hand. “You are vastly more intriguing than other supernatural creatures I’ve hunted in the past. Fae are such tricksome creatures, so hard to study. You’ve lived up to the expectations and then some.”

“So it is about that,” Stiles said flatly. “You want to study me.” It seemed so absurd. “What about revenge for Brine?”

“That would imply you did something to him.” Ramona blinked her eyelashes innocently. “Are you admitting to a crime?”

Stiles just sneered at her.

“You’re right, that one was too easy,” Ramona agreed. “Yes, Stiles, I want to study you. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you what you are. What you can do, what you can’t do, everything about you.” She stalked closer without getting between Ben and his line of sight on them all. 

“Why?” Stiles asked.

“Because I’m interested,” Ramona told him. “I have a need to know things. And if I happen to use that knowledge to help myself and my family, well, I’m just being human.” Her expression was one of delight when she added, “Something, I hear tell, you used to know a bit about.”

Stiles took a step back but Ramona moved with him, keeping them close.

“Human father, possibly human mother.” Ramona ticked off her fingers. “So where did you get your abilities, then, hmmm? Much like a shape-shifter, I’m guessing. And so, I ask myself, why can’t we all profit by knowing your secrets?” She put her hand on Stiles’ arm, making Derek loom next to her threateningly. She let go and smiled as if she hadn’t been scared off. “Tell me everything I want to know or I’ll have Ben shoot everyone in this room one by one until you do. Because I know you’re not that different to humans in that way. You care for people, Stiles, you care for these humans and your mate.”

Unable to hold in his mirth, Stiles started laughing. What Derek had said Ramona would use against him was actually what she was trying to use against him. It was just too humorous for him to be worried by the horror of it coming true. When he stopped laughing he felt much lighter than he had just a few seconds before. “You’d kill everyone? Including Cue and Bonnie?”

Bonnie stifled a gasp behind him. 

Ramona sighed in annoyance. “Fine, you’re right. I’ll kill your werewolf, not them. Family is family after all.” She shot a pitying look at Bonnie and Cue over Stiles’ shoulder. “Even if they are entirely too much of a disappointment to bother with.”

“Huh,” Stiles mused. “Hey, Derek?” he asked without looking. “You planning on letting Ben shoot you?”

“No,” Derek growled through fangs. “I plan on taking his gun and clubbing him with it.” 

Stiles grinned. A violent Derek was a thing of beauty. Especially when that violence worked into his plans so nicely. “Well then,” he continued, daring to pat Ramona on the arm as she’d ventured so close. She looked so affronted a giggle threatened to burst out of him. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m going to take what I came for and leave. So get the fuck out of my way.”

Everything moved very quickly after that.

Ramona lifted her hand and it was obviously a signal because Ben went to shoot, but Derek was already there, wrestling Ben to the ground and knocking him in the head with a heavily clawed fist. When Derek got up, Ben stayed down.

During this, Stiles stepped backwards until he hit the settee with his legs. Reaching behind, he found Cue. Bonnie was still clinging to him like a limpet. Now all Stiles needed was for his wolf to get his ass over to them and they were golden.

The universe was obviously waiting for him to believe things would work out because just as he dared to dream, both doors opened and more of Ramona’s family came into the room. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, suddenly quite terrified he was about to loose that which was most dear.

Derek made it to his side just as Ramona picked up the gun Ben had dropped. “Stop!” she yelled, and fired.

The bullet hit Cue.

“Oh,” Cue said, while Stiles stared at him in shock. Cue blinked up at Stiles, then slumped on the settee. 

Bonnie started screaming.

“Be quiet!” Ramona snapped. “Now, Bonnie, or so help me, I’ll lock you in the basement again.”

Bonnie whimpered and bit her lips, sending Stiles a terrified look as she leant over Cue, pressing her shaking hands into his side. Cue made no noise of protest even as her hands turned red with blood.

Totally unable to think what to do, Stiles looked to Derek for help.

Derek’s eyes will still blue, fangs, fur and claws still visible. He shot Stiles a look and paused, his own fear a blink-and-miss-it affair before he was back in control. Stiles needed Derek to teach him how he did that. With one last look at everyone and a grimace, Derek changed back, gesturing for Stiles to do the same. 

There was a slight but noticeable relaxing in Ramona’s people when they both looked human again. If that had been Derek’s goal, Stiles wanted to hug him for it. 

“Cue needs medical help,” Derek told Ramona. “You know he does.”

“I know either you or Stiles shot him when you broke into my house. I haven’t decided who, but I have time before we call for an ambulance. Everyone saw it happen that way, isn’t that right?” she asked the room at large.

Stiles’s mouth dropped open as her people nodded. “Jesus. And you say I’m the monster.” Taking a chance, he knelt down near the settee, putting his fingers on Cue’s neck to feel his pulse which was thready but there. “Don’t you dare die, Cue,” he said under his breath.

Bonnie glanced at him quickly, but her attention was on keeping pressure on the wound.

Derek touched Stiles on the shoulder and left his hand there. It took Stiles a bit to realize the heavy pressure Derek was applying was to remind him of their plan. He tried not to let it show on his face as he started to pull his magic around their small group of four.

“He’s using!” a woman with short straight blond hair called out. 

Another bullet hit the settee, right next to where Stiles’ hand was resting. Flinching in shock, he almost fell onto Cue and turned to look at where the bullet had come from. 

Another one of Ramona’s men was aiming at him with as little expression on his face as Ben had. 

Two people had shot at Stiles in as many minutes. It seemed he was going for a personal record.

“No more warning shots, Stiles,” Ramona said. “Put down your magic. Beth here does a mean impersonation of an accelerometer and can call you out each and every time.”

Beth, the woman in question who’d ratted him out, smiled thinly at him when Stiles turned his stare to her. Noticing the magic she held, he couldn’t decide if she was a witch or druid or something else entirely. He was guessing something human, unless Ramona dabbled in using her supernatural hunts as more than just information gathering. 

Stiles’ skin went cold and goosebumps pebbled his arms at the thought. Was he more than a guest at this mad tea party? Did Ramona want to train him as a pet, to be brought out for special occasions, to help hunt other supernatural people?

The room was so tense the air was thick with it. Stiles kept a tight clasp on his fox ability, not wanting to feel anything from anyone. It was also one of the only things he could keep a grasp on. His own emotions were so overwhelming he hoped what he said next didn’t get them all shot.

“He’s dying,” he somehow managed to say through a throat that felt constricted. “Your nephew is dying. Cue is dying. Don’t you care?”

“Of course I do. I would ask that you don’t try to make me look bad in front of my family,” Ramona scolded him.

Stiles choked out a laugh. “I don’t have to do anything to make you look bad. It’s crystal clear to anyone with eyes.” He looked at the guns pointed at him. “Or to those who haven’t been force-fed Stalinism since they were in-vitro.”

Several of the guns seemed to be held with more intent after his word-spew. For some reason, Stiles was unable to look away, even though his eminent death was just as terrifying as it had been the numerous times he’d faced it before. Even dying once for real hadn’t changed that fact.

He jumped when a hand found his. It was Cue’s and it was cold and waxy. Stiles gripped it tightly and looked down at the annoying boy who’d somehow become his friend. Cue looked at him then his eyes travelled behind the settee in a way that made Stiles frown and follow his gaze. He tried not to react when he saw who Cue was staring at. 

Hans stared back, holding a gun like everyone else, thought his was slightly off in its aim. The only reason Stiles was so certain of this was because he currently had a great many guns pointing at him and he was in the unique position to see Hans’ wasn’t one of them.

Cue’s hand squeezed his, and Stiles looked back at him. Cue blinked his eyes slowly, like he meant to do it, then looked back at Hans. Cue couldn’t mean what Stiles thought he meant. But, if he did … they might be able to get out of this. Stiles really hoped he’d read Cue correctly.

Taking what was possibly one of the biggest gambles in his life, Stiles stood, covering both Bonnie and Cue from everyone but Hans, while praying he wasn’t about to kill everyone with wishful thinking. Derek’s hand remained on his shoulder.

Stiles stared Ramona down. “You evil bitch,” he spat. “How dare you come to my town with your filthy hunter family and try to kill mine. I’m tired of people like you who want what isn’t theirs and will do anything in their quest to get it. You make me sick. You’re the monster here, not me.” 

While Ramona blinked at him, probably shocked he'd dared to speak to her like that, Stiles gestured behind his back, hoping to convey he needed covering fire. 

In three.

Two.

One.

Hans started shooting at the same moment Stiles wrapped his magic around himself and the four other people he was taking out of there. A couple of Ramona’s people were downed without even knowing they’d been betrayed. Beth, the accelerometer, was the first and Stiles had to hand it to Hans for his clever thinking. 

By the time bullets were coming for them, Stiles had whisked his group away, using his connection to the Tree to land right at its base.

Everyone tumbled onto the ground, Stiles righting himself first and feeling somewhat amazed at the fact he’d transported Hans without touching him. But his feel-good feelings vanished when he saw the shadowy form of Cue in Bonnie’s arms, bleeding out.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck!” Stiles cursed, not knowing what to do, while Derek grabbed his phone and shone a light so the humans could see better in the darkness.

Quickly scanning the clearing for hostiles before holstering his gun, Hans got down to Cue’s level and laid him out flat on the snow before ripping his shirt open in one tug of massive hands. There was so much blood, Stiles felt queazy and bile rose in his mouth. Looked like he was back to not being okay with the red stuff.

“Put pressure here,” Hans told Bonnie, redirecting where she leant over Cue. “Press as hard as you can.” Standing up, he got close enough to Stiles that Derek growled at him. Hans spared Derek a look before saying softly, “He’s bleeding out. He won’t get to a hospital on time. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Since when do we trust this guy?” Derek asked, looking at Hans like he was contagious.

“Since always,” Stiles replied, trying to digest such simple and devastating words as ‘nothing we can do’. He still had trouble with them, even after all these years. “Hans has been helping us, we just didn’t know it.” 

Derek looked unconvinced but asked of Hans, “Are you sure?” 

Hans nodded. “I’m afraid there’s nothing can be done.”

Bonnie was crying, lying almost all her body weight on top of Cue, trying to stop his bleeding, the snow around Cue growing progressively darker.

“Stiles, there is something,” Derek exclaimed. “Put him in the Nemeton.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles admonished, not really listening.

“We put you in the Nemeton, you lived. Do the same with Cue.”

“Not how it works, Der.” Stiles’ heart was already breaking. He’d had no idea Cue meant that much to him. Why hadn’t he listened to Derek when he’d tried to get him to see it?

Derek huffed. “I think you’re scared to try it. What, you’re only capable of taking lives?”

Stiles was shocked right out of his growing grief. He’d always thought Derek believed he was capable of doing the right thing, the good thing. He may not have believed it himself but having Derek believe it was important. When had he lost that?

Curling up his lip, Derek coaxed, “Come on, what have you got to loose? Cue’s dead either way, right? At least by doing this, the Tree gets a meal.”

That was a punch to the gut. 

Stiles huffed out air as if the blow had actually landed. “I’m not going to feed Cue to the Tree!” he exclaimed, ignoring the part of himself that could see the logic in such a move. This was Cue, not some foul druid or hunter.

“So you’re not going to save him,” Derek scoffed, folding his arms. The wave of disappointment coming from him caught Stiles unprepared.

“I can’t, no one can!”

“That’s crap, Stiles. You can save him. You’re just too eager to wallow in everyone’s resulting grief to try.”

Stiles felt small and unsightly under the scorn Derek was projecting. “Why are you talking to me like this?”

“Because someone needs to. You’re being pathetic. You’re a fae with a huge amount of magic at your disposal but you’re too weak to use it to save a boy who trusted you!”

Hugging himself, Stiles’ shoulders hunched up around his ears. 

Derek shook his head. It had been years since such profound disapproval had graced his expression when he looked at Stiles. Making a noise of disgust, Derek started walking away, taking the only light with him.

“Where are you going?” Stiles called so much more quietly than he’d wanted, as if he’d lost the ability to project.

“I’m not staying to watch your friend die. You can do that on your own.”

“Wait!” Stiles reached out. “Derek, wait! I’ll try, okay? I’ll put him in the Tree.” Anything to keep Derek by his side and not believing the worst of him.

Derek was back in an instant. “Come on then.” He pulled Stiles over to Cue.

“Whatever you plan on doing, do it quickly,” Hans told them.

Having no idea how to go about saving Cue, Stiles knelt slowly by the boy’s side, wincing when blood seeped through his pants. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands on Cue, swallowing his disgust when they grew sticky and wet. Cue’s breathing was so ragged, Stiles had to block it out to stop from shaking. 

Derek’s hand on his back helped and when Hans bent down on his other side, Stiles felt strangely capable. Everyone here was rooting for this, they believed he could do it. Even Bonnie, who was still pressing down on Cue’s wound, had given Stiles room when he needed it. Everyone trusted him. 

Taking a wild guess, Stiles brought forth his magic, letting it flow around Cue’s body while being careful to keep the void shut. He didn’t want to suck Cue’s soul out, the opposite in fact; he wanted to keep Cue’s soul in his body until it had time to get better. 

Slowly going deeper, Stiles imagined his magic as a blanket around Cue’s soul, wrapping it up, keeping it in place, keeping it safe. To help focus his intent, Stiles closed his eyes, willing his magic to achieve what he wanted, trying to believe it was enough of a first step.

“Sti …ss,” a quiet voice breathed out. 

As Stiles came back to himself, Cue was looking up at him with glassy eyes. “Hey, buddy,” he said, trying not to choke on the words. “Hang in there.”

Nodding the tiniest bit, Cue’s gaze went to Bonnie. “Cus,” he whispered.

“It’s alright, Cue,” Bonnie said, through tear-streaked sniffling. “Stiles will make you better.”

Looking up, Stiles found Derek staring at him with such confidence he had to blink and look away. “It’s not over yet,” he told Cue. “You’re pretty beat up, I’m going to put you in the Nemeton to heal. When you’re better, I’ll get you out.” And he’d have to do it soon; Stiles could already feel the stop-gap measure of keeping Cue’s soul in his body unravelling.

“Like … uoo?” Cue asked.

“Yeah, just like I was,” Stiles agreed, although their situations were completely different in ways he didn’t want to think about because then he’d start to doubt this even had the slightest chance of working. “Just have a rest, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Kay,” Cue mumbled, eyes slipping shut. 

“There’s no more time,” Hans announced. He was holding Cue’s wrist, keeping a check on his pulse. 

Cue’s head listed to the side, and Bonnie whimpered.

Reaching out to the Tree, Stiles sought a way to join the two of them but keep Cue separate enough that the Tree’s magic could heal him without assimilating him permanently. Stiles’ magic-blanket on Cue’s soul should help but the Tree was a hundred thousand times more powerful. If it saw Cue as an outside energy source, he was screwed. Stiles needed the Tree to see him as part of itself, something that needed healing.

Stiles went into the Tree, his awareness flowing along their connection, the grove and everyone but Cue fading from sight. His magic pulled Cue along with him and they went down deep, down into the quiet, into the healing heart, where the Tree was most vulnerable and yet also the most capable of keeping Cue safe. By holding Cue in stasis with his magic, Stiles made Cue seem like part of him, so when Stiles touched the Tree’s magic, it swirled up their connection to Cue’s body, seeking the places that needed fixing. It was a trick, a desperate one, and there was no way to know if it would hold.

Leaving Cue’s soul in the Nemeton, Stiles flowed back into his own body; becoming aware of Bonnie saying something in amazement and Hans clapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him.

With a finger under his chin, Derek turned Stiles’ head towards him. Stiles was afraid to look, but Derek’s eyes were soft and his mouth was shaped in a smile. 

His lips felt good against Stiles’ own and when they parted, Stiles whispered, “I so don’t understand you sometimes.”

Derek chuckled, the sound lifting the weight from Stiles’ heart. “You saved him, look.”

Stiles looked back at Cue, finding a sight that needed a second to take it in. “Huh,” he finally said. “That’s not something you see every day.”

“I’ve seen a similar thing once before, with you,” Derek confided.

Cue’s skin was glowing. An internal glow that now Stiles was looking more carefully, reminded him of Brine being taken by the Tree. The light from the glow spread from Cue, over the surrounding ground, bringing into stark contrast the white snow and red blood.

“He’s okay, right?” Stiles asked, hoping he hadn’t just condemned a child.

“Pulse is good, breathing has stabilized, bleeding has stopped,” Hans advised, doing a quick recheck of Cue’s vitals. “Derek is right, you saved him.” He sounded awe-struck and Stiles squirmed a bit under his gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” Derek said, reassuringly. “You disappeared when the Nemeton saved you, but it looks as if Cue’s not going to do the same thing.”

“Different circumstances,” Stiles agreed, starting to breath normally for the first time in what felt like hours. 

“Very different, but a similar outcome,” Derek added.

“You think?” Stiles wasn’t so sure. 

“I do,” Derek answered. “He’s going to be okay.”

Stiles tipped his head back and looked up, gaining some measure of peace just by seeing the night sky framed by the trees he loved. Since he’d become the Tree’s protector, he felt the grove and its clearing to be a place where he was the most comfortable, the safest, the most complete in himself. Which was somewhat ironic when he thought about all the hellish things that had occurred there. 

“Stiles,” Bonnie said, bringing his gaze down to her. “Ramona was going to kill us just like she did to Stef. You saved us. Thank you. Cue was right; you’re a good guy.” Bonnie’s eyes were puffy and red and tears had tracked down her face but she was adamant as she voiced her belief in him.

Bitting his bottom lip, Stiles looked back at Cue, feeling like the biggest liar on the planet, and guilty that it didn’t make him feel as bad as he knew it should. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek can quote too.
> 
> "Less Drama for five hundred" - Jeopardy!, T.V Game Show. (Just as Stiles said, because you know he's going to watch a general knowledge game show if left by himself and there's no half-bodies in the woods to go find.) Alex Trebek is the game show host.


	15. The Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets angry and Scott learns some things.

Stiles and Hans sat across from each other in the snow, their little area lit up by the light from Hans’ phone, the surrounding nighttime dark and still. It was amusing to watch one of the biggest men Stiles had ever seen in real life try to ignore his ass, which had to be freezing. All Stiles felt was comfortable; the snow was like a cushion. He was perfectly fine sitting for however long it took for Hans to start talking.

After Cue had been put in Tree-stasis, Derek had wanted answers from the man. So had Stiles, but he was starting to put everything together and wasn’t at all surprised when Hans told them he would only talk if he and Stiles were alone.

Derek hadn’t been impressed. Stiles was probably going to be sleeping alone for a while.

He’d taken Hans to the outskirts of the preserve while Derek had stayed behind in the grove with Bonnie and Cue.

“You haven’t had it easy, have you?” Hans commented, catching Stiles off guard. He watched Stiles with calm eyes, waiting entirely too patiently for a guy who’s nads must have been vacationing up in his small intestine. That, or they were made of rock. No normal person should be able to find snow an enjoyable seating arrangement when wearing only denim.

“We’re not here to talk about me,” Stiles reminded him.

“But we are,” Hans disagreed. “It’s always been about you.”

Nonplused, Stiles changed the subject. “I think we need to start at the beginning. Your name really Hansel Kempler?”

“Yes. How far back are we talking?” Hans was finding things too amusing for Stiles’ taste. “‘To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born’ …” 

“Let’s start with Gavin Brine,” Stiles interrupted, annoyed at Hans quoting something he wasn’t familiar with. That was his trick. “Where’d you go after we left you at the grove? You weren’t there when I looked for you.”

“How lucky for me I wasn’t,” Hans teased. “And you know where.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He did have an idea what had happened but if Hans confirmed it, Derek was going to have one hell of a problem with their newly identified ally, the one who’d been helping them out all this time even when they didn’t know it. “The fae took you,” he surmised, waiting for the confirmation he knew would come.

Hans dipped his head. “The fae took me.”

“Why?” 

“It thought I could be of some assistance,” Hans explained. “As it turns out, that was the correct assumption. I was able to clean up Gavin’s left-overs and when Ramona contacted me trying to find him, it played into the fae’s hands perfectly.”

Left-overs. Stiles assumed that meant the men who were killed in their prison cells after being arrested over the whole ‘kidnapping a Sheriff and Deputy’ debacle. It said something about the man sitting across from him that it had been done without evidence left behind or Hans being caught.

Then Stiles thought about what the fae was up to in getting Hans to work for it. “A spy on the inside, invited in by the head of fae hunting herself,” he noted. “Clever, if not also incredibly lucky.” Stiles had to hand it to his creator; this was a doozy of a long-play, one which may not have panned out if not for Ramona’s need for answers.

Hans’ smile wasn’t entirely cheshire-like but it was damn close. “Luck had very little to do with it, I think. The fae gets what it wants, you of all people should know this.”

That sounded almost ominous. When Hans just sat there giving no further information, Stiles pushed his unease away. No reason to go looking for trouble where there was none. 

“You’re the one who made sure Ramona’s poison wouldn’t work on Derek,” he said, putting the theory out there. It was too much of a stretch to think there’d be two people in Ramona’s camp helping them out, so it made sense Hans was the one. Him helping them escape was just confirmation in Stiles’ mind. “Thank you,” he told Hans sincerely. “I owe you.”

Hans’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do not,” he said, shaking his head.

“Don’t try to argue with me.” Stiles was somewhat pissed Hans would try to lesson what he did. “You saved Derek.”

Hans frowned and turned his head away, an awkward silence falling between them.

Trying to get back on track, Stiles said, “I pay my debts.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Hans answered, a curious expression crossing his face as he contemplated Stiles once more.

“You’re helping the fae with other things, aren’t you?” Stiles asked, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

“The Summation,” Hans confirmed. “I collected the druids for you.”

“You rigged them up in the redwood.” That explained the harnesses. Stiles had been wondering why the fae had used them.

Hans smirked. “Some of my more esoteric work.”

“There is one thing I can’t work out,” Stiles admitted.

“Only one?” Hans said, still smiling.

Stiles gave him a dirty look. “Why’d you agree to all this? Is the fae paying you more than the hunters?”

Hans threw back his head and laughed. Stiles raised his eyebrows, not sure where the humor was.

“It was either help it or die,” Hans explained. “But another reason made itself available and that is the more pressing one.”

“What?”

“The fae will change me when I prove my worthiness.” 

Hans was so sure in his answer that Stiles faked a cough before his apprehension came out in a way that could only be considered demeaning. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, as Hans’ expression darkened. 

“You sure you want to be one of us?” Stiles asked. “It’s not like it’s been sunshine and roses for me. Well, not roses anyway.”

Hans sat up straighter, his already intimidating stature becoming one of military poise. “My life is one such as a billion other insignificant ones; those that make no lasting mark on time. With you, with the fae, I will take the first step away from my roots.”

Stiles was unimpressed with the flowery wording. “Yeah, that’s crap. Even I can tell you’re not the kind of person who goes through life without making some kind of impact. Are you talking about wanting world leader significance to make a ‘mark on time’? ‘Cause if you want to be fae just to rule over others, we can't help.”

Again Hans laughed like Stiles had said the most amusing thing.

“I don’t see what’s funny here, we’re about keeping the balance in nature,” Stiles explained. “It’s not about power over others.”

Hans had the nerve to wipe at one eye, such was his mirth. “I know you have power, Stiles. I’ve seen you wield it. I can only imagine what fate befell Gavin Brine, but neither you nor the fae have been backwards in using your power to get what you want.”

“Only to restore balance! Never for world domination!” Stiles defended, insulted.

“The world is a very big place, Stiles, no one can rule it all.”

“So instead of the whole world, you only want a piece of it?” 

Smiling again, Hans nodded. “Exactly as you do. You want Beacon Hills, don’t deny it. I want to be part of that, part of the fae herd, is that so wrong?”

Stiles sat back, affronted. “I don’t want to rule Beacon Hills, I want to keep it safe! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!” He was fast resending any good feelings he’d had towards Hans and felt stupid for putting even an ounce of trust in him; he was just another power-hungry human.

A fleeting look of surprise crossed Hans’ face. “You’re misreading my intent. Being fae offers me a new beginning. Surely there have been times when you’ve wanted that for yourself?”

“I never asked for this,” Stiles defended himself.

“Which is perhaps why you’re best suited for the job.” Hans grew more serious. “It is said that the best rulers are those who do not want to rule for power’s own sake.”

“I don’t rule anything,” Stiles disagreed.

“Yet.”

“Never.”

Hans’ smile this time was one of knowing. 

It was so irritating Stiles had to hold himself back from telling the man to fuck off. “How did Cue know about you?”

“When I deduced Bonnie had been swayed from Ramona’s way of thinking, I let Cue know I was there to help if it became required of me.”

“You wanted to help them?” 

Hans shook his head. “To help you. It seemed prudent Bonnie and Cue weren’t left to their own devices, as they are somewhat … inexperienced. I was planning on them being our go between without blowing my cover. Unfortunately, Ramona was too quick to catch onto Bonnie’s shifting alliances.”

“It wouldn’t have helped that Bonnie seems incapable of keeping anything to herself,” Stiles added. “I shouldn’t have sent her back.”

“Your reasoning was sound, if not your choice of spy,” Hans told him.

“What do you know of my reasoning?” Stiles scoffed with an underlying worry. Hans seemed way too assured of things, more than he should be.

“If you had allowed Bonnie to remain with you when she ran away, it would have put pressure on your relationship with your father, pressure you cannot afford,” Hans pointed out. “I saw her leave and overheard a phone call between her and Cue afterwards. She is not subtle. In regards to your father, you’re hiding the truth about Stefanie’s death and do not want him to think badly of you.”

“How …? I don’t … Stefanie’s dead?” Stiles floundered, wincing. “I thought she decided to leave Beacon Hills.”

“Convincing,” Hans replied dryly. “I see now why you spend such little time around you father. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“How do you know where I spend my time, or about what happened to Stefanie?” Stiles was freaking out, he could admit it; this was too much like having his soul bared by an almost complete stranger who shouldn’t know such things about him. 

“Ramona watches your house, Stiles, just as Chris Argent watches hers. You must know that. As to Stefanie, how do you think I know, when Ramona only guesses?”

Stiles thought back to Lydia saying she believed they’d been followed into the preserve. He ignored the feeling of violation from being spied on and concentrated on the question. “The fae told you,” he guessed.

“The fae told me,” Hans agreed. “I asked what it knew when Ramona was adamant you had something to do with Stefanie’s disappearing. It was so pleased to brag about your exploits, so proud of its ‘young changeling’ and how you’d acted on your own to kill her.” Hans chuckled in quiet amusement, giving Stiles a wink before continuing. “It never stops singing your praises.” 

The subtext was so poorly hidden Stiles gave him a dirty look, causing Hans to break into full laughter. “Shut up,” Stiles rebuked. “It was pissed at me for doing it, not overjoyed.”

“Whatever you say.”

More than over dealing with Hans’ particular brand of annoying, Stiles stood up. “You okay to find your way to wherever it is you’re going from here?” he asked, without really caring if the answer was no. A nighttime walk through the preserve would do the man wonders.

Sobering, Hans looked around at where they were, not that there was much to see in the blackness, then nodded. “I am.”

“Good.” Stiles started to walk off, somewhat curious as to where Hans would hole up now he was persona non grata with Ramona, but not curious enough to ask.

“See you soon, Stiles,” Hans called after him, still sitting in the snow.

Stiles had to restrain himself from flipping Hans off.

***

When Stiles arrived back in the grove's clearing, Derek stormed up to him. He was grabbed by the hand and pulled until Derek deemed they were far enough away from Bonnie to speak privately. 

“Leave like that again, with someone who might try to kill you, and you and I will have to rethink what we are to each other,” Derek snarled.

Stiles had known Derek would be pissed, but this was a bit extreme. “Der —”

“Save it,” Derek snapped. “You will stop treating me like an accessory and more like your pair bonded. You will treat me with respect, taking into considerations my feelings in what you decide to do, before you do it.”

“I do consider you —”

“You pay me lip service then do whatever you want! That’s not being considerate, that’s being headstrong and stubborn!” Derek’s eyes were flashing blue and fangs were sprouting. Stiles could do nothing but tentatively keep a hold of his wolf’s hand, expecting him to rip away at any moment. “We’re in this together, Stiles! Together! You won’t leave me to go off and do something stupid on your own ever again!” Derek crushed Stiles to him, taking the air from his lungs. 

Stiles stood there, trying to pick his way through everything. Gently rubbing his palms over Derek’s back, he got a shudder in return and a scruffy face in his neck, breathing him in. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, tipping his head to give Derek more room to scent him. “Ramona tried to take you away from me. Going in first, going in alone, means you’re not in danger. You’re safe.”

“Did you forget I’m a werewolf and capable of beating the shit out of people?” Derek argued. “And it goes both ways; I need to be with you in order to have your back.”

“I know,” Stiles agreed, suitably chastised. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do it again. He could have killed you.”

“He could have tried,” Stiles joked, then relented at Derek’s frown. “You heard him yourself, he wouldn’t talk with you there.”

“Then we don’t hear him.”

“Now that’s being pigheaded,” Stiles rebuked. When Derek’s frown turned darker, Stiles decided on compromise. “Agree to disagree?”

Derek stared at him for a while longer, making Stiles squirm, before finally asking, “What did you find out?”

“He saved your life. Hans was the one who put the antidote in the poison.”

Instantly suspicious, Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Is it too much to ask that you’re just thankful?”

Folding him arms, Derek asked again, “Why did he help us?”

“Can’t we just let this go and be happy we got out of Ramona’s and that Cue’s going to be okay?”

“Why’d he help us, Stiles?”

Stiles sighed. “He’s working for the fae.”

Derek looked honestly stunned. Stiles couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen that exact expression before; a mix between flabbergasted and furious. He was sure he must have seen it, but just not directed at him. Not with such a dark look of hopelessness following along behind it, anyway. 

Turning away, Derek started walking back to the stump where Bonnie sat with Cue.

“Derek,” Stiles said, starting to follow.

“No.” 

It was said so curtly, Stiles stopped. “But Derek —”

“We’re not discussing this now.”

“Oh.” Stiles picked at his pants with one hand. “Okay.” He stood where he was, uncertain and not a little bit hurt by Derek’s dismissal.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, come with us now,” the fae whispered into his ear, touching his elbow and making him squeak as he flinched in surprise.

Whirling around, Derek roared in immediate outrage, and changed; shredding his clothes in the process. Fangs and fur and wolf leapt forwards.

“Stop,” the fae said dismissively, flicking its fingers in Derek’s direction.

Derek’s furious momentum ended as quickly as it had started. Arrested mid leap, he was sent tumbling to the ground in a graceless tangle of legs. Squirming on the ground, he stared at Stiles in shock, unable to lift himself from where the fae held him prostrated.

“Let him go!” Stiles demanded of the fae, hating to see Derek in such a position. “He’s not one of your games!”

The fae slit its eyes towards him, and Stiles was brought up short by the remoteness he saw there. “All things are part of the game, young changeling, everything under the sun and moon. Nothing is exempt.”

Chilled by the warning, Stiles tried again. “Let him go,” he asked, more placating this time. “He won’t try anything.” 

Derek growled deep in his throat, promising otherwise. 

Stiles sent him a quick reproving look before turning back to the fae. “Please.”

“He will be removed unless he controls himself,” the fae warned and flicked its fingers once more.

Released from the fae’s magic, Derek jumped up on his four feet, teeth bared in silent threat. Stiles shook his head in warning. With a huff of disproval, Derek eased up on his stance, but his ears were flat against his skull and his look was one of dangerous intent as he stared fixedly at the fae.

Dismissing him without a second thought, the fae swept its gaze over to the stump.

Freezing as the fae’s scrutiny came to rest on her, Bonnie’s terror was so complete that it blew over to Stiles without him even trying to reel it in. She tasted like fine spun sugar and threatened to take his attention away from figuring how to get the fae to leave before Derek foolishly attacked it.

“We approve of the sacrifices,” the fae said, nodding its head as it turned to Stiles. “Do as you must and we shall depart.”

Stiles looked at Bonnie and Cue, then at Derek who’d started growling again. He didn’t know how to defuse this situation. If he went with the fae, Derek would be angry. If he didn’t go, the fae would expect him to kill Cue, which wasn’t going to happen, and Bonnie, whom he found he didn’t want to kill either. 

Before Stiles could think of a plan, Derek huffed and changed, one second wolf and the next, a person. 

Bonnie made a noise at seeing him naked but didn’t otherwise move or speak. It spoke of just how scared she was of the fae that its naked form hadn’t the same effect. Stiles doubted she’d even noticed.

“Stiles isn’t going anywhere with you,” Derek snarled at the fae.

The fae laughed, tipping its head back and letting loose a noise that was reminiscent of ice cracking. “He will do as we say, wolf.”

“No, he won’t.” Derek stepped up to Stiles’ side, staring defiantly as he took Stiles’ hand in his.

On the other side of Stiles, the fae kept smiling but its eyes were hard and cold. “We do not ask permission.” It put a hand on Stiles’ arm, its fingers strong and sure against his elbow, effectively trapping him between the two of them.

Stiles didn’t move other than to squeeze Derek’s hand tighter, hoping Derek took it as a silent warning not to push any further.

“We tire of this,” the fae announced. “Come, dear heart, you may continue the sacrifice when you return. We shall bind the human child until then.”

“There is no sacrifice!” Derek spat. He gestured to Bonnie. “She’s someone who needed Stiles’ help and he gave it! Unlike what you want him to be, he’s got a good heart and is a kind person. Stop fucking with him!”

Stiles closed his eyes.

“Is this true?” the fae asked, chuckling with disbelief. “Did you help these humans?” It let Stiles go and moved over to the Tree, looking down at Cue, who was still shining like a glow bug, and Bonnie, who turned her face away.

Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand reassuringly and Stiles realized he’d been holding onto Derek tight enough to hurt. Derek may have been trying for comfort, but Stiles’ stomach was pressing up into his lungs making every breath feel tight. 

The fae looked at Cue properly for the first time. “What is this?” it demanded with a soft hiss.

“Tell it the truth,” Derek told Stiles. “Stand up to it.”

Stiles gave him an incredulous look. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the fae, far from it. It was that he was well aware if he didn’t tread very carefully, Bonnie and Cue were as good as dead.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, explain yourself,” the fae ordered, and Stiles found himself having to comply.

“Cue and Bonnie are friends.”

The fae scoffed. “What need have you of friends?”

An idea started to form and Stiles grabbed it with figurative hands. “They’re Derek’s friends.”

“Then what the wolf says is true and you helped them?” The fae stared Stiles down. “We have discussed the use of humans, young changeling, do we need another demonstration to help you remember?” Its hand hovered over Bonnie.

“No!” Stiles took a step forward, brought up short by Derek. 

“No?” the fae replied. 

A fog began creeping along the ground near their feet, glowing with a pale blue light, lighting up the snow then obscuring it in slow waves. When it touched Stiles the cold pierced his skin as if he were human. He winced and curled his toes, trying desperately to find the right words, those that held truth if looked at a certain way.

“I’m paying back a favor owed to Derek,” he hedged. 

The fae’s face underwent a ripple of emotions, passing so quickly Stiles couldn’t tell what it was thinking. It indicated towards Cue with a tip of its chin. “This child is suspended in the Tree due to your owing a debt?”

“Yes.”

“And this one?” 

Bonnie twitched as she was yet again pinned by the fae’s stare. The fog wasn’t touching Cue, his own light somehow stopping it from washing over him, but Bonnie was flinching at its touch, curling closer to Cue to avoid it.

“She was in danger,” Stiles explained.

“You saved her life?” the fae asked, turning to him with a look so piercing, Stiles knew he’d misstepped somehow. 

His head was starting to ache and he scrunched his eyes up in discomfort. Derek nudged shoulders with him gently, and Stiles leant into him the slightest bit as the pressure kept building. 

The fae’s smile was all sharp teeth. “If true, the child owes you life debt. She is yours to sacrifice, no matter the ‘favor’ owed to your wolf.”

Bonnie eyes went so wide it seemed they would pop out of her head. She whimpered and then bit her lips shut.

“That’s crap!” Derek snarled. “Stiles won’t do it!”

“Oh, won’t he?” the fae taunted. “Dear heart, what say you?” It turned its smile to Stiles.

Stiles pressed at the bridge of his nose, trying to stop a stabbing pain. “I can’t,” he huffed, not sure what he was saying; it was wrong to consider what the fae wanted but he was unable to say why.

The fae seemed to swell before him, taking in the moonlight and becoming all Stiles could focus on. The fog grew around it, backlighting the fae’s own glow. “You can not?” 

Stiles wondered why he was debating it. He could kill Bonnie. He’d killed before. The fog stopped hurting his feet.

“No, he won’t do what you want!” Derek took Stiles by the shoulders, turning him around. “Stiles! Think! Get past this, you’re not a murderer!”

The fae laughed.

“I can’t,” Stiles said again, repeating himself because it was all he could do. The pain in his head was blinding.

“Let him go!” Derek threatened the fae, though he was the only one touching Stiles so it didn’t make sense. “Stop it, you’re hurting him!” 

“He fights only himself,” the fae said scornfully. “When he is true to what he is, he is free.”

“He’s fighting you!” Derek held Stiles close. His hands were shaking in rage, black lines swarming up his arms, but he didn’t let go, not even for a second. “I’m remembering things from when I was asleep, I’m remembering you,” he told the fae. “I’ll remember it all,” he promised. “Something tells me you won’t like that.”

“Will you?” the fae queried. It reached across Stiles, lightning quick, and touched Derek on the temple. 

Derek’s hands dropped away as he crumpled into the snow, taking Stiles down with him.

“Derek!” Stiles looked up at the fae, blinking through the dizziness accompanying his headache. “What did you do?”

The fae leant over Stiles and touched his forehead. A rush of cold pierced his brain, freezing in its intensity. Stiles screamed.

“Shhh,” the fae consoled. “The magics are there to help you. Stop pushing them away.”

Stiles couldn’t take the pain anymore. He’d been through so much in the past years but this pain went deep, seeping into the inner places of him, creeping in like the Nogitsune but without the nuance. This pain was blunt force, striking over and over, his mind a tired and broken thing unable to withstand the blows. Why was he here, suffering like this? He was fae, he was strong, he wasn’t a victim any longer, so why, why, why?

“Let him go!” Derek called from where he lay on the ground. He struggled to sit up but the fae must have been using its magic again, holding him down.

Reaching out, Stiles placed a hand on him in consolation, stilling his movements. “S’okay, Der,” he told him, slurring his words slightly. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine.” While Derek looked at him in shock and dismay, Stiles stood up with help from the fae and regarded Bonnie. “She’s not for sacrifice,” he told everyone.

Derek breathed out in relief.

“No,” Stiles continued, more to himself than anyone else. “She’s for the Summation.”

The fae laughed while Derek cursed at it, renewing his struggle to get free. 

Stiles kept looking at Bonnie. His headache was retreating and he breathed easier with each passing moment. Bonnie was staring at him now like he was just as horrifying as the fae. Couldn’t she see he was trying to save her?

“We find ourselves greatly amused,” the fae admitted. “And willing to indulge. Let us go now.”

Stiles turned to Derek, ready to argue for staying with his wolf, when suddenly he was standing in a snow drift at the bottom of the giant redwood tree that housed the sleeping druids. Bonnie was there, and so was the fae. But Derek wasn’t and Stiles’ headache thumped back in full force. He groaned and bent at the waist, so tired of being in pain.

The fae touched Stiles gently on the temple. A cool wave smoothed its way across his brow and the relief as the pain ebbed and fell away was almost as liberating as an adrenalin rush. Not a trace was left to hinder him.

“You, you’re —” Bonnie stammered, just before her eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted, folding into the snow. 

Looking down at her, neither Stiles nor the fae went to her aid. So many people seemed to collapse around Stiles these days. It was becoming a thing. Setting Bonnie up for the Summation had been the only way Stiles could think of to postpone her death. He’d been surprised the fae had agreed as she wasn’t a druid. Perhaps that detail wasn’t as necessary to the Summation as he’d thought, but more a symbolic gesture.

Of course, now that he’d accomplished saving Bonnie from immediate death, he was having trouble seeing what the next step was to saving her life. Or why he’d want to. Using her for the Summation would only be helpful to their cause, so why not?

“Bring her,” the fae told him, interrupting Stiles’ musing as it started to make its way up the redwood.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Stiles groused, but he hefted Bonnie using fae strength and followed the fae at a slower pace. “Hoiking dead weight up trees isn’t easy, you know,” he called out, gripping Bonnie with one hand to stop her slipping off his shoulders. He got halfway up the trunk before calling out, “Why can’t Hans do this? He did the others.”

The fae didn’t answer until Stiles had managed to get to where the druids were swaying in their rigging. “Our little birdie had been singing to you, we see.”

Wedging Bonnie between three branches, Stiles kept a hand on her so she wouldn’t fall. “Well, yeah.” He hopped up to sit next to her. “He helped us get away from Ramona and her goons.” The fae hummed in contemplation and Stiles looked around the tree. “How are we going to make her stay put up here?” he asked, pointing out the obvious. “There’s no harness.”

The fae blinked its eyes but said nothing. 

“Didn’t think of that?” Stiles asked, biting back the full force of his sarcasm. He sighed and leant his head against a nearby branch. “Awesome. You just left this to Hans last time, didn’t you?”

The fae cocked its head, still not saying anything as if it didn’t want to admit it had done just that and hadn’t thought ahead. But then, neither had Stiles.

“No matter,” Stiles told it, waving a hand. “Call Hans and get him to bring something.” He wasn’t looking forward to the wait but would deal with it.

The fae pointed a bit further up the trunk, above Stiles’ head. “That was left for any ‘unseen circumstances’,” it told him. “Perhaps you will find it useful?”

Stiles squinted up into the branches and saw a band of something curled up and wedged tight against the trunk. He stood up on his branch, shin against Bonnie to keep her against the tree, and stretched up. The wide band-thing unravelled and almost fell from his grasp before he got a good hold of it. He turned it over, working out that it was a giant belt with a buckle to hold it together. It had an industrial kind-of look to it and Stiles had a vague idea it was used for construction.

“Ookay,” he said, looking to the fae, wondering why Hans had left this and not another climbing rig.

The fae stared back at him, giving no answer.

Fiddling with the buckling device, Stiles got it loose and handed one end of the belt to the fae, motioning for it to climb around the trunk of the redwood. The fae looked at him in surprise, handling the belt like it was something particularly nasty. 

“You want to hold her steady instead?” Stiles asked, knee against Bonnie’s middle as he got ready to cinch her to the tree.

The fae’s look of disgust as it flittered around the trunk trailing the belt was comical, and Stiles had to swallow a chuckle. Perhaps Hans had foreseen the fae’s reluctance and preempted that a belt would be easier than the complicated rigging of a climbing harness. When the fae handed him the end of the belt, Stiles threaded the buckle and started to pull it tight.

The belt pinched Bonnie around the waist and she winced, opening her eyes. Stiles was left staring at her only inches away. 

“Wha … Stiles?” Bonnie looked around. “God! Where are we?!” 

She leant over to glance down, and Stiles pushed her back against the tree. “You want to fall?” he asked her, repositioning the belt. “Stop squirming.”

Bonnie did as asked, her face pale in the moonlight that filtered down through the branches. “Why are we up a tree?” she whispered. Her fingers found Stiles knee and clasped tight.

Scrunching up his face, Stiles moved his leg out of her reach. Why hadn’t the fae just rendered her comatose like the others? “You’re going to stay here for a little bit,” he told her, locking the belt buckle and scooting back a little.

“Why?”

“Because it was that or killing you at the Nemeton.”

Eyes tracking the branches around them, Bonnie asked slowly, “Where’s that … person?”

“Who?” Stiles asked, then the fae bobbed into Bonnie’s view like a menacing ghost and she choked out a noise of fear. “Oh, that person. Right here.” 

The fae chuckled and Stiles quirked a smile. This was starting to be a bit of fun.

“This isn’t you,” Bonnie got out, turning pleading eyes on him. “Stiles, Derek said this isn’t you.”

Stiles huffed in annoyance and tugged on the belt in vindication, feeling a thrill when Bonnie gasped in pain. The sharpness of her discomfort tasted good on his tongue.

“I trusted you,” Bonnie accused him. “I believed in you! Cue believed in you!”

“Can you shut her up?” Stiles asked the fae.

“HELP!” Bonnie screamed, her voice echoing into the night air. Her next scream was cut off by a wave of the fae’s fingers and after gulping air for a few seconds, she slumped in her binding, folding over and listing to one side.

Stiles settled her back against the tree trunk so she wasn’t in danger of slipping out of the belt. Not that he would have cared, only that her dying right then would mean she was no longer available for the Summation. “Did anyone hear her?” he queried, relaxing when the fae shook its head.

When Bonnie was all set, Stiles sat back and glanced at the two druids hanging in their harnesses. They looked the same as when he saw them the first time, peacefully sleeping, the elements not touching them as they dozed on, unaware that time was ticking on, bringing them closer to their fate.

“We’re going to need more,” he observed.

“They’re coming,” the fae told him, smirking. “We have all confidence your calling will have worked.”

***

While the morning dawned softly in a fold of fog that blanketed the forest and created a dream-like quality to the atmosphere, Stiles entered the cabin, closing the door quietly and pausing to listen. 

Hearing nothing, he turned and flailed in shock at Derek standing right behind him. “Jesus!” he cried, his back hitting the door with a thud. “Fuck, Derek!”

“It’s not nice being scared, is it?” Derek said in a monotone, face completely devoid of expression.

Finding no one else when he checked the room, Stiles looked back at Derek. “No?” he ventured.

“No,” Derek agreed, still eerily calm. “Imagine feeling that constantly, with only a few moments of reprieve.”

Having had too much experience to fall back on, Stiles could imagine that quite easily. “Der —” he started, but Derek turned from him and walked over to the sofa, not waiting for him to finish.

“This time wasn’t your fault,” Derek said as he sat down. “The fae took you, I get that.”

Stiles rubbed one arm. “I wanted to stay with you,” he said, taking a few tentative steps forward. “I didn’t want to leave.”

“I guessed that,” Derek agreed.

Drifting closer, Stiles was emboldened when Derek didn’t tense up. He sat on the edge of the sofa and looked at Derek’s profile. “I didn’t ignore your wishes,” he added, needing it to be very clear. “I heard what you said, and I don’t want to treat you like … like you don’t matter.”

Derek finally looked at him. “I know.” A world of sadness underlaid his words.

Stiles scooted across the sofa, curling into Derek’s side. As he did so, Derek lifted an arm and encircled him in a hug. They were both so tense; Stiles could feel Derek’s unease like a blanket wrapping around to strangle the both of them.

“What did the fae have you do?” Derek asked, looking not at Stiles but at the fire in the fireplace as the flames danced along the logs, crackling gently.

“Umm …” Stiles thought back. The fae had kissed his cheek and everything after that was kind of hazy until he arrived back at the cabin. He put his muddled thoughts down to the headaches and encroaching crazy and didn’t want to burden Derek with his mental issues, so he thought of something else to say. “We put Bonnie away for the Summation,” he finally answered.

Derek’s jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed but his hand stroked gently up and down Stiles’ arm. “She’s not dead?” 

“No, not yet.” Stiles sighed, feeling a deep lethargy start to creep up on him as he rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. “That comes later.”

“At the … Summation?” Derek turned his head slightly to nuzzle Stiles’ hair.

“Yeah.” Stiles yawned. He could feel how high-strung Derek still was, the nerves skittering around like they were his own, but Derek was so warm and there was love there too, so Stiles snuggled closer. “We’ll get some more and then we’ll heal the Tree,” he mumbled.

“Some more?” Derek prompted, turning them so Stiles was up against his chest. 

“Mmm,” Stiles agreed. “More …”

“More people?”

“Yeah, they’re coming.” The firelight was dancing along Stiles’ closed eyelids.

“At this Summation,” Derek said above him, “these people will be used for it and they’ll die?”

“Well, yeah. Of course.”

“When?”

Stiles slipped further into sleep.

Derek jostled him. “Stiles, when? When’s the Summation?”

Grousing, Stiles turned over, fitting his cheek against Derek’s armpit. “Full moon.”

Derek said something else but Stiles didn’t understand. 

“Stiles!” Derek moved, pushing Stiles up and holding him by the arms.

“What?” Stiles snapped, sleep dropping away and leaving him none too pleased.

“Is the Summation going to heal the Tree? Are you going to sacrifice people to heal the Tree?”

Nonplussed, Stiles stared at Derek. “How did you know about …?” he started, then shut his mouth. “Fuck.”

“Stiles, this isn’t a good thing. Killing people, you have to know it’s not okay. You do know this.” 

Exasperated, Stiles rolled his eyes. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

“We’re having it again because I think you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten, I just think some people need killing,” Stiles argued. “And so do you, Mister Hypocrite-wolf.”

“People like Bonnie?”

“Meh,” Stiles said, shrugging a shoulder. “Some people I just don’t care about one way or the other.”

Derek looked stunned. “You did, though. You saved her because you cared. Can’t you remember?”

“Pffft, of course, I can. I’m not senile, not yet anyway. I just don’t care any more.”

“Just like that?” Derek demanded.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, just like that.” Derek’s fingers were digging into his arms and it was starting to hurt. “Stop man-handling me,” he warned.

Quirking an eyebrow, Derek stepped up to the challenge with a hard stare. “You like it when I man-handle you. You always have.”

“Well, now that depends,” Stiles shot back. “Are we going to fuck? Because if so, then handle me all the way, but if not, get your paws off before I make you.”

Derek didn’t let go. “Jesus, Stiles.” He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them. They shone their bright blue into Stiles’ own and held him with more force than Derek could ever do physically. “The fae’s in your head, making you believe things of yourself that aren’t true. Making you forget anything that makes you question its motives.”

It was such a surprising thing for Derek to say that Stiles’ anger melted under confusion. “Huh?”

“The fae, Stiles,” Derek said, adamently. “Your head hurts when you push back and fight its magic. It’s made me forget before too. It tried again today but it didn’t work.” Pulling a necklace out from under his shirt, Derek displayed a crystal not unlike the one Scott had crushed to release Stiles from his house imprisonment. Stiles went to touch it but Derek moved it out of reach. “Don’t. It could hurt you.”

“Why do you have it, then?” Stiles looked closely at Derek, wanting to understand. “Do you want to hurt me?”

“Never.” Derek’s hand closed around the crystal. “This protected me from the fae. Deaton had me wear it to prove a point. The fae is manipulating us.” The crystal was tucked back under his shirt.

“No,” Stiles scoffed. “That’s crazy.” 

“It’s not.” Derek gently pushed Stiles hair back off his forehead, cupping his jaw. “Stiles-love, I remember some of what happened when I was poisoned. It was the fae. It was there. We were in some other place, like the Nemeton grove, only not. The air was strange; it sparked. And the fae,” Derek shook his head, “it threatened me, Stiles. Threatened us, if I didn’t let you go.”

Stiles shifted, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “No. Crazy. That’s all this is. A crazy dream.” He touched his head. “I’m dreaming.” Now it made sense. 

“You’re not,” Derek stressed. “This is real.”

“You do seem real,” Stiles told him, reaching up to press against Derek’s mouth with his fingertips. A spike of pain stabbed him behind the eye. “Just a dream,” he told himself, and the pain went away.

“No, don’t do that; fight it, fight through it,” Derek pleaded. “I know it hurts but you have to keep fighting. Remember what matters to you, keep a hold of who you are.”

“Who I am?” Stiles repeated.

“Yes!”

“Who am I?” Stiles asked himself. “I’m fae.”

“You’re more than that!” Derek rested their heads together. “You’re my Stiles; my beautifully stubborn, good-hearted Stiles.”

“I’m yours,” Stiles agreed readily. “And your my wolf.”

“Yes, yes! Keep hold of that and remember you’re not a killer, no matter what you feel when you’re with the fae.”

“The fae,” Stiles mumbled. Then he frowned, remembering a woman dying on the Nemeton stump. “Stefanie,” he recalled. 

“What?” Derek held Stiles’ face, forcing him to focus back on him. “What about Stefanie, Stiles?”

“She’s dead,” Stiles said plainly, the horror of it making him gag. “‘Wrapped in plastic.’” A giggle of disbelief came out, making him sound drunk, and then the pain came back, turning his laughter into a groan. 

“Stiles!” 

“No, no, nonononono …” Stiles started chanting to himself, wanting the pain to go away. This was too real. “Not a dream, not a dream …”

There was a popping sensation behind the bridge of his nose and warmth ran down his lower face, over his lips to drip off his chin. A copper taste filled his mouth and his head lolled back on his neck. The copper dripped down the back of his throat and he choked, Derek immediately propping him upright, making him lean forward over the edge of the sofa, head between his knees. 

There were blood spots hitting the carpet. Coming from him. He was bleeding?

“Not a dream,” he coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away stained with red. “Oh, God, it hurts.” The pressure in his skull was going to make him black out; he could feel the edges of the world folding in. He’d welcome the darkness this time.

Derek’s hands were on his back and Stiles could vaguely feel the worry emanating off him, but it hardly penetrated his consciousness. 

“Shhh, Stiles, let it go, stop fighting now, stop, let everything go.” Derek was choking as if he had something stuck in his throat just like Stiles, but his was something bigger than blood. 

Stiles wanted to reassure him, wanted to help, but the pain was too great. 

“Let it all go, Stiles. Just keep breathing and let go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Was Derek crying?

“Let go.”

Stiles did and the room roared up and crashed over the top of him, blackness hitting him like a wrecking ball.

***

Something had woken Stiles from the funkiest dream he’d had in a while. There had been a river of blood and he’d been drowning in the thick stickiness of it. Derek had been on the shore, just out of reach and Stiles had been trying to keep his head above the gelatinous waves as Derek held out a hand. Stiles had pulled his own out of the blood river and reached towards Derek, but the blood held to him, long ropes of red weighing down his arm and pulling it back under. Then everything turned dark. Stiles had gone under, down into the blood that wouldn’t let him go. 

“Wake him! I want answers!” 

Lifting his head above the back of the sofa, Stiles peered blearily towards the front door. There stood Derek, blocking the way of Argent who was trying to get inside. 

Argent spotted him and pointed. “He’s awake, let me in.”

“Not happening, Stiles is resting.” Derek kept his arm on the doorframe, an imposing figure which didn’t seem to deter Argent at all.

“God-Damn it, Derek! I need to see him!”

“What you need to do is leave.”

Stiles felt strange, floaty; his head echoing inside and his mouth tasting of a nasty shade of vile. This, along with a blocked nose as if he’d somehow caught a cold, made him wish he’d stayed asleep. Coughing into his hand, he frowned at the wedge of blood left sitting on his palm. No wonder he’d had such a weird dream; he’d had a nose bleed in his sleep. He hadn’t had one of those since he was a child. Odd that it would be happening now he was fae.

Ignoring the argument still happening at the door, Stiles shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom. Washing his hand, he then stared at his reflection in the mirror, slightly shocked at the face that looked back. When had he gotten so drawn and tired-looking? Beyond smears of blood on his face which meant Derek must have cleaned him up while he slept, he had dark circles under his eyes and there were swirls of fae-mercury in his pupils that refused to fade away.

Scrubbing at his face with freezing water and using a tone of tissues, Stiles took his time cleaning himself. Having a drink of water freshened his mouth and he went a step further, brushing his teeth and then running wet hands through his hair, pushing it off his face when it curled back around. 

Padding into Derek’s bedroom, he changed his clothes, donning one of Derek’s sweatshirts. Feeling refreshed, he wondered down to the kitchen, surprisingly hungry.

The front door was closed and Argent wasn’t anywhere to be seen so Stiles assumed Derek had run him off, which was good. Last thing Stiles wanted was that bastard snooping around, causing trouble.

“Chris had a few questions,” Derek said, coming up behind him in the kitchen.

“Oh?” Stiles tried for nonchalant, keeping his back turned. Procrastination was best when practiced frequently so he puttered around, opening cupboards then shutting them.

“Looking for something in particular?” Derek asked, leaning back against the counter.

“Nope,” Stiles answered, closing the fridge door. “I’ll know it when I find it.” 

Derek hummed in reply. 

Stiles dared a quick look at him, knowing that expression of consternation all too well. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and spun it into the air before catching it. 

Pursing his lips, Derek frowned. “Chris wanted to know what happened to the people he had keeping an eye on this place. They’ve gone missing.”

Stiles tried to keep his reaction calm. He didn’t want to lie about things but he didn’t want Derek finding out what he’d done, either. “What made him think I would know?” he asked carefully. He’d hoped with missing memories and without any concrete proof, Argent would let up and the whole thing would blow over, but he should have known better. Tenacity was in the Argent blood line.

“He didn’t say,” Derek answered.

It was the knife, Stiles realized. That damn obsidian blade. He still didn’t know how Argent had gotten it. Taking a bite of his apple, he crunched it with an obnoxiously loud noise and licked the juice that had run down his wrist, still trying for a calm that was now unfortunately warring with annoyance. 

“Stiles,” Derek began, and by his tone, Stiles knew he was caught. “Do you know what happened to them?”

“Maybe Argent didn’t pay as well as he should have and they quit,” Stiles suggested, not wanting to go under so soon. “Or maybe he was stingy with the dental. People are picky about health care.”

“They were Calaveras, Stiles. You don’t want to screw with them.” 

Derek’s eyes were shadowed and it pulled at Stiles heart, making him want to confess to help ease the conflict he saw in them. Putting down his apple, he sighed and opened his mouth to tell Derek everything, but Derek kept talking.

“Chris said it was hard to convince them to send people to help after what happened in Mexico, but he managed it. He also said he’ll have to let them know what he suspects and that they’ll be most interested in talking to you when he does.”

“They’re coming here?” Stiles asked. Great, that’s just what he needed. As if he didn’t have enough things to deal with. But if it came down to it, he guessed he could just kill them all.

Derek shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

“Why is it always me?” Stiles threw up his hands, truly exasperated by Argent’s inability to leave him alone. “It’s just his hate talking. He wants to blame me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Derek disagreed. “He just wants the truth.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “The truth? Lets look at the facts then, shall we? Argent put one hunter family up against another. Who does that and doesn’t expect something to happen? If he didn’t do it to set me up, maybe he should be looking at the Meahn family as to the cause of his missing minions.”

Derek looked down, frowning, obviously not having thought of that little scenario. Perhaps this was the angle Stiles should be going for. 

“He could have started a little hunter war right on our doorstep!”

“Did he, though?” Derek looked back up at him. “Or is this just you manipulating everyone to look the other way? Manipulating me.”

It hurt to have Derek put it so bluntly. “No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?” Derek sighed. “You promised not to do that anymore.”

“I don’t mean to,” Stiles said quietly. He really didn’t.

“So answer me truthfully. Do you know what happened to them?”

Stiles scratched at the back of his head. The urge to lie was so strong. “Yes,” he finally admitted, looking away.

“Are they dead?” 

There didn’t seem to be any incrimination in the question so Stiles dared to check. Derek had that blank look on his face. It was worse than if he’d been openly condemning.

“Are they?” Derek asked again.

Stiles swallowed. Everything felt heavy inside. “Yes.” 

Derek closed his eyes. “Fuck, Stiles. They’re Calaveras!”

“Yeah.” Stiles scuffed his foot along the kitchen tiles.

“Did you know who they were?”

“Yes.”

Derek walked out of the kitchen and stood looking out one of the large living room windows. The fog hadn’t cleared completely and obscured the topmost branches of the trees and the sky, but the forest floor was a sublime dream of white snow and the stark upright lines of tree trunks.

Coming out of the kitchen, Stiles hovered by the counter, indecisive about his next move. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be pressed on the Calaveras any further. Derek was giving him an out. He could let it go, leave it as the unspoken thing between them. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think it wouldn’t cause problems.

Walking over to the windows, Stiles got in Derek’s line of sight. “You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t want to know.” Derek understood what Stiles meant.

“Ask me.”

“No.”

Stiles took a step closer. “Ask me,” he ordered.

Derek shook his head.

“Der —”

“Did you do it?” Derek said in a rush. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

Derek seemed to crumple inwards in a display of emotion that was frightening for Stiles to watch. He was pulled into Derek’s embrace and gratefully went, hiding his face. Derek was shaking and Stiles dreaded opening up to feel what he was going through. His fox ability and the claim were both shut down tight, done without Stiles even realizing, and he was loathe to bridge the distance.

“Why did you do it, if you knew who they were?” Derek asked.

Stiles stared at nothing out the window. “It didn’t matter who they were.” He could see it unfolding before him; Carlos and Hartley and the other one who’s name he didn’t recall. “I wanted to, so I did it.”

“The fae was with you, wasn’t it?” Derek’s claws were pricking into Stiles’ back. 

Rubbing his nose into the side of Derek’s head, Stiles tried to sooth his wolf, even though he knew it was hopeless. “Yes.”

Derek pulled back only far enough to look at him. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Okay. That means something.” He brushed a hand across Stiles’ cheek, wiping away a tear Stiles hadn’t noticed he’d shed.

“What does it mean?” Stiles asked, thankful Derek seemed more determined than upset but not understanding why.

A tiny crooked smile which didn’t reach his eyes graced Derek’s face. “Do you remember earlier this morning when you came home?”

“I had a bad dream,” Stiles replied, even more confused as to why Derek was asking instead of answering his question. 

Derek blinked as if surprised before his expression softened. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You had a bad dream.”

Stiles eyed him, sensing there was something he was missing. God. Was he missing something? Had he forgotten something again? He tried to remember, tried to go back through the night, but it was foggy and all he got was fleeting snippets of Derek wiping his face and kissing his forehead. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to stave off the headache that suddenly threatened. 

“What does a dream have to do with everything else?” he asked, hating to bring the Calaveras up again, but if they were coming to Beacon Hills the threat they posed to his dad and Derek couldn’t be ignored. A sharp stabbing pain made him squeezed his eyes shut.

“Nothing,” Derek said quickly, getting Stiles to lower his hand from his face. “There’s no connection. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything?” Stiles asked, confused again. He failed to see how Derek had come to that conclusion.

“Yeah,” Derek told him. “Don’t worry about it.” He ran a hand through Stiles’ hair and Stiles closed his eyes in relief as the headache fled. When he opened his eyes, Derek was smiling at him gently. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, smiling in return. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

“On your own?” Derek asked, a flash of something quickly hidden behind another smile.

“Yeah.” Now Stiles had said it, the idea of relaxing in nature for a while was highly appealing. “I won’t be long.”

From the window, Derek watched him leave the cabin. Stiles waved, giving a double thumbs up. Derek frowned as he waved back. Stiles shook his head to himself, smiling in gentle amusement at Derek’s evident concern for him, as he headed in the direction of the river.

***

The river was frozen solid, its banks sharp edges of crisp snow as Stiles stepped down onto its wide expanse, trying to find purchase with his toes but slipping along for a few yards before he got his balance. He shuffled out into the middle, arms held wide, surprised he didn’t have agility on the ice.

The fog was a shroud covering the world, leaving nothing but snow and ice bathed in an ethereal glow of diluted sunlight. Stiles was skating on his own private stage, sliding awkwardly around and loving it. Tripping himself up and going into a spin, he started laughing. The noise fell short of piercing the fog and sounded eerily flat because of it, but that didn’t stop him from laughing harder while trying to spin around again, liking how the world flew past, everything too blurred for any one thing to stand out.

Eventually he slowed down and came to a stop, still chuckling. The only thing that would make him feel even better than he did right then was if Derek joined him. His wolf should feel this freedom, this incredible lightness. Stiles couldn’t keep it to himself, it was too good not to share.

Sliding over to the river’s edge, he used a low hanging branch to pull himself up, stopping in shock when something whispered into his mind. “No way,” he breathed out, staring at the tree he had hold of. “Oh, my God.”

Clambering up the bank, Stiles turned around, taking in all the trees as suddenly they were inside him; their voices of earth and sky and wind and growth and life pouring through his mind.

“Yeah!” he yelled, fist pumping the air. “Yeah!” 

Running to the nearest tree, he threw his arms around it. The pine flowed into him, telling Stiles everything; the story of its birth, its life and the promise of Spring it held while waiting for the air to warm enough for its buds and leaves to burst forth.

Stiles cried then, sobs that made his ribs ache; joy mingling with profound relief. When there were no more tears, he felt liberated, snotty and free. Hurriedly wiping at his face, he started towards the cabin so he could tell Derek the good news.

Below the trees, in the ground, something tugged at his consciousness. Stiles sucked in a breath, having not realized he could feel the earth again in all his excitement. The tugging grew stronger and with remembered ease, Stiles slipped down into the pull, following with his mind, flying along the root connections of the trees. It didn’t take long to figure out what he’d been feeling. 

Someone was walking in the Nemeton grove. They hadn’t tripped his wards and weren’t in the clearing with the Tree but the earth had felt the tread of feet on the snow, and the trees the brush of body against bark.

Hands clenching in impossible anger, Stiles hissed and started running, up the incline towards the preserve, grabbing the connection he had to the Tree and sunlight leaping, arriving in the grove and crashing right into the person who was trespassing.

“Stiles?” Scott called out from below him, face smushed sideways in the snow where Stiles held it down.

“Scott?!” 

“Yeah, it’s me. Let me up.”

Stiles scrambled off him to crouch in the snow. “What the fuck are you doing here? How are you here?” he demanded.

Scott looked chagrined as he slowly held up his left hand. On his little finger was a very familiar ring. “I can explain,” Scott began, as Stiles hissed and grabbed him, wrenching the Nemeton wood off his finger.

“How did you get this?” Stiles snarled, holding it up accusingly. It should have been on Derek’s dresser at home, that was where Stiles had left it. “You stealing from me now?”

“No, bro, I swear!” Scott said. “Derek gave it to me.”

“Bullshit!” The idea was so ludicrous as to beggar belief.

Something like pity but not quite, flashed across Scott’s face. “It’s true. He did.”

For some reason it was impossible for Stiles not to dismiss Scott completely. Maybe it was the way Scott had stayed sitting in the snow, knees pulled up, like they were hanging out in Stiles’ bedroom after school, or the way he didn’t try to defend himself any further. Either way, Stiles was left with an ocean of hurt and confusion.

Loosing his anger in the face of Derek’s actions, he asked, “Why?” Unable to see what the point would have been to have Scott sneak into the grove. “What were you going to do?”

Scott shook his head slightly, dropping one knee so his leg lay in the snow. Stiles noticed then he was wearing dark ski pants as if he’d been planning on being outside for a while. “There’s nothing I can say that you want to hear.”

“The truth’s always a good place to start,” Stiles suggested, just wanting something to be explained to him that wasn’t wrapped up in riddles or layers of subterfuge. No one spoke the truth to him anymore.

“The truth? That’s rich, coming from you!” Scott shot back. “Look, I came here because it’s like I said before, we’re doing everything we can to help you.”

Stiles stood up. “I don’t need your help.” If felt like a lie as he said it, some part of him wanting to take the offer and hold on tight, but he just couldn’t seem to dredge up the energy required. “Go home,” he told Scott, turning and walking further into the grove.

He wasn’t at all surprised when, instead of leaving, Scott followed him under the trees, into the clearing surrounding the Nemeton.

“Holy crap!” Scott exclaimed, coming to a stop. 

Following his gaze, Stiles tried to work out what was causing Scott to gape like a fish. There was just the Tree’s stump and Cue, lying there in his glowing glory. He’d dimmed a bit in the sunlight but was still fairly luminescent.

“What happened??” Scott asked, walking up and looking closely. His eyes widened as he took in the ripped and bloodied shirt, the only indicator Cue had been injured, the bullet hole having closed up thanks to the healing magic of the Nemeton.

“Didn’t Derek tell you?” Stiles replied, understanding starting to sink in.

“No, he didn’t.” Scott knelt by Cue’s side, his tone indicating Derek would be getting a tongue lashing for not being upfront about this particular turn of events.

“Don’t touch him,” Stiles said. “You could screw things up.” He wasn’t sure if that was likely, but if anyone could, it would be Scott.

Scott pulled both hands to his middle, a move that had Stiles holding back a chuckle; it was so reminiscent of when Scott was little and caught stealing cookies. 

“Will you tell me what happened, please?” Scott asked, looking up at Stiles.

Shrugging, Stiles was somewhat uneasy. Scott was displaying an uncanny ability right then to blow through all his defenses. “Cue got shot.”

Scott sucked in a breath. “Who shot him?”

“Ramona, of course. Psycho bitch extraordinaire. He was dying.” Stiles waved a lax hand towards Cue. “This was the only way to save him.”

“He’s … connected to the Nemeton?” Scott asked hesitantly. 

“Yep,” Stiles said. “He should be okay now.”

“Should be?”

Stiles shrugged again. “S’not like I’ve put someone in there that I plan to bring back out. It may not work.”

Scott didn’t say anything for a while. When he did, the casualness he tried to project was too forced to be real. “Have you put anyone in there you didn’t bring back out?” 

Groaning, Stiles clenched his eyes shut, dropping his head into his palm. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, a sudden rhumba beat of pain making itself known. 

Scott was by his side, a hand tentatively touching his shoulder. “Hey, It’s okay, Stiles. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles squinted up at him, head still in his hand. “What?”

“Nothing,” Scott said, making no sense. But then, when did he these days?

Stiles kept looking at him. “Why are you here exactly, is this about the Tree?” 

“Kind of, I guess, but also no, in a way. Though I am curious,” Scott disclosed, confusing Stiles even more. 

When his brain no longer made him want to claw his eyes out, Stiles frowned, trying to make sense of Scott’s not-sense. “You’re curious?”

“Yeah.” Scott smiled. “You said you were healing the Nemeton and I wanted to check it out. You’re so secretive about it.” His smile never wavered.

“And you decided, with Derek’s help, to sneak in here and take a peek?”

Scott either didn’t pick up on Stiles’ sarcasm or decided to ignore it. “Yeah,” he enthused, his smile becoming just a little too wide. “So … how’s it going?”

He was so lying. Stiles should get rid of him. But given enough lead, Scott would trip himself up and reveal his true intentions.

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Stiles suggested.

Scott’s surprise was humorous in an annoying way, only proving to Stiles that he’d been lying this entire time. The urge to hit him was quite strong, so Stiles wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold, hands under his armpits to hide the fact they were clenched into fists.

“Yeah? That’s okay?” Scott asked.

“Knock yourself out.”

As if checking for a sign Stiles wasn’t as serious as he sounded, Scott gave him a second, then third look-over, clearly uneasy. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow in return. 

Slowly, Scott walked around the stump, looking at it with furrowed brow as if something was going to suddenly jump out at him.

“Impressive, isn’t it,” Stiles mocked.

Scott shot him another look, this one clearly telling him to shut up. 

Stiles huffed out a laugh, both amused and annoyed at the same time. The nerve of Scott was only matched by his ability to be an idiot.

“There’s nothing here,” Scott said to himself quietly just as a wind blew through the grove, carrying his words over to Stiles.

“What were you expecting?” Stiles said, bristling. “Some kind of Sleepy Hollow tree to the underworld? Why don’t you dig a bit, maybe you’ll find the heads of the people I’ve hidden there.”

Scott looked at him blankly. The same kind of look Derek had perfected recently. 

“Time for you to go now,” Stiles decided. He made a ‘come on’ gesture that was more ‘fuck off’ than anything else. “Now, Scott,” he reiterated, when Scott didn’t move.

Scott was staring at the Nemeton again but not at the stump. His eyes were glowing alpha-red, his mouth hanging open in surprise as he stepped backwards, his gaze traveling slowly upwards.

“Ah, crap,” Stiles muttered. 

He hadn’t expected Scott to see the Nemeton as it really was, but he should have. With each sacrifice, the Tree pressed harder against the wards that kept it in the astral plane. Enough magic must be slipping through the gap now that supernaturals could see it, even if it wasn’t yet strong enough to maintain a physical manifestation.

“Stiles …?” Scott asked, not taking his eyes from the Nemeton. “Wha … I mean, how?” He looked at Stiles then, not so much in accusation as bewilderment. Stiles guessed the crimination would come once Scott had wrapped his head around the sight of a nearly-healed Tree. 

There being no use now in pretending, Stiles let his glamor drop and looked at what he’d managed to accomplish so far, having to tilt his head up to see the Tree in its entirety.

Several bare branches had started to sprout, branching off just above his head. Leaves would come, he knew, but for now the only ones were the waxy clusters around the trunk, roping along on the twisting vines of bark. 

Resting a hand against the Tree, Stiles had to smile as he felt the magic pulsing, growing and reaching; a tangible building of power as if the Tree was waiting, anticipating the Summation to come. He was aware that was just his own expectations coloring his thinking, the Tree not sentient enough to house such feelings, but that was okay, he could be excited enough for them both.

“I really need you to talk to me, Stiles,” Scott pleaded.

Stiles turned, his hand dropping away from the Tree’s bark. He didn’t know what Scott wanted him to say. Did he expect excuses for what he had to have known Stiles had been working for all this time? Stiles had told him, told everyone, that he had to heal the Tree. 

“How, Stiles. Tell me how the Nemeton looks like this?” Scott pointed up at the Tree, the beginning signs of accusation forming in his eyes, just as Stiles knew there would be. It was hypocritical of Scott, considering he’d agreed a healed Tree would benefit the whole county, but it wasn’t surprising. And it didn’t bother Stiles. Success was so close he could touch it. The Tree would be fully healed by the Summation’s end. 

Feeling emboldened, fearless, he stood up proudly, tilting his head in the manner of the fae, and smirked. “Sacrifices were required and given,” he declared, the dark sly part of him enjoying the way Scott blanched. 

“You put people in there??” Scott stepped back even further. “God, Stiles, tell me you’re joking.”

“I don’t see why I should just to make you comfortable.”

Scott’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “But. Stiles, no. You didn’t. You’re not …” He shook his head, continuing to retreat. 

Stiles wondered if Scott was afraid he was going to be next. It was a ludicrous idea. About to explain Scott had nothing to worry about, Stiles’ right eye ticked with involuntary motion as his headache came back with a spear of pain. He pressed the heal of his hand into his eye socket, swallowing a moan. “It is what it is, Scott,” he muttered. “I did what I had to do.”

“What the fae told you to do!” Scott said. “Derek was right, we were right, you’re under its control! You have to fight it, Stiles!”

“No, I don’t,” Stiles ground out through his teeth. “There’s nothing happening here but what I want.” Forcing his hand down to his side, he ignored the ground swaying beneath his feet and took an unsteady step forward. “I’m doing what has to be done to heal the Tree. It’s that simple. The fae isn’t controlling me, it’s not manipulating me, it’s not making me do anything I don’t want to.”

Scott had such a devastated look on his face and was radiating such distress that at any other time, Stiles would have been enjoying himself immensely. As it was, he was trying his best just to stay upright as the pain in his head picked up a notch. He still had to explain to Scott that he wasn’t going to hurt him. For some reason, it was important that Scott know.

“You’ve killed people, Stiles.” 

“Oh, boo hoo, you going to tell me we can’t be friends anymore?” Stiles chuckled, immediately wishing he hadn’t, as the sound reverberated in his skull. He stopped moving or tried to, but it was entirely possible he was swaying like a drunk. “I’ll make it easier for you. I didn’t just kill them, Scotty-boy. I enjoyed it.” 

The ground gave up being any kind of support and Stiles fell to his knees. A hand touched him on his back and he thought for a wild moment, because of the heat of it, that Derek had come for him, was going to help him, was going to take away the godawful pain that made it so hard to think.

But it was Scott who had him. Scott, who looked so sad as he helped Stiles to sit. Black lines traveled up Scott’s hands where they touched skin. For a moment, Stiles struggled, believing Scott was trying to take his soul.

“Shh, I got you, it’s okay,” Scott told him. “Let me help you.”

Without permission by his mind, Stiles’s body sagged in Scott’s arms. As the pain in his head receded the slightest bit, Stiles remembered Scott wasn’t the one who ate people. That was him.

“Wouldn’t hurt you,” Stiles managed to say, feeling like he’d achieved something of great significance in getting the words out, but having no idea why he’d feel like that. The back of his skull felt like pummeled dead weight, squeezing tight, his head shrunken but also big enough as to want to explode.

“There’s so much,” Scott murmured, black lines continuing to pour across his hands and up into his jacket sleeves.

“Stop,” Stiles told him, pushing one hand away. Scott couldn’t take it all, it’d hurt him if he kept trying.

Another stab of pain, this time to his left eyeball, had Stiles groaning again and tipping his head back onto Scott’s shoulder. The comfort in being held by Scott made him so confused. This was Scott, he hated Scott. Eyes closing, Stiles wanted to give up thinking.

“Why’d you let me follow you in here?” Scott asked slowly, breaking what relief Stiles had managed to gain. “Were you going to kill me?”

“You’re so weird,” Stiles replied tiredly.

“Me?” Scott choked out. “Given the circumstances, I think it’s a reasonable question.”

“Why are you here, hugging me, if you think I’ll kill you?”

“Well, no one ever said I had good self-preservation skills.”

Stiles wanted to laugh but there was nothing funny about any of this. “Wouldn’t kill you, Scott,” he said. “You’re my friend.”

There was a popping sound in his head, something strangely familiar about it, then the pain racked up as if a valve was being turned, increasing the pressure. Stiles went slack against Scott, loosing all mobility, though he remained fuzzily aware of what was happening.

“Stiles? Stiles!” Scott yelled at him, trying to get him to sit up. 

The world became sky and Scott’s face staring down at him.

“Stiles!” Scott was still yelling, as scared as Stiles had ever seen him. “Fight it, Stiles!”

Fight what? Stiles wanted to ask. There was nothing to fight.

There was nothing.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She's dead, wrapped in plastic." - this creeped me out when I was little and Twin Peaks was new to TV. Having Stiles say it just brought that back for me.
> 
> And hey, Hans can quote too. They're all getting into it now.  
> "To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born." - 'David Copperfield' by Charles Dickens.  
> He's a well-read man that Hans.


	16. The Machination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes or breaks a memory?

“Why, dear heart, do you persist in hurting yourself?”

Stiles sat up with the fae’s help and rubbed a forearm across his top lip, feeling something sticky. A bloody smear on his arm let him know he’d had another nose bleed. When the fae pulled him to his feet, he expected to be a bit wobbly, that last headache had been the worst of them, but he was fine. Scott had managed to take the pain away.

Looking around, Stiles found Scott on his knees, staring at the fae with equal parts anger and shock. It was understandable; the fae could be unsettling and this was Scott’s first time face to face with it. Plus, being held down with magic was bound to make him a little cross.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, you must stop this,” the fae demanded.

“Stop what?” Stiles rubbed at his face some more as he looked down, finding his t-shirt a bloody mess. He took if off and wadded it up, using it to clean himself a little better. He wiped at his arm and dropped the shirt in the snow.

“This,” the fae continued. “Why do you insist on this charade?”

Stiles took a moment to consider. “Nope,” he told it. “I don’t get it. What charade?”

“This!” The fae gestured to Scott. “Why waste your time pretending with humans and wolves when you have many important things to achieve?”

Thinking about it, Stiles found the fae made a very good point. Humoring Scott seemed pointless and time wasting now he thought about it.

“Do we have your attention?” the fae asked, stepping in front of Scott so he was hidden from Stiles’ view.

“Yes.”

“Good.” The fae took Stiles by the hand and turned him around. “Let us be off,” it said.

“You won’t win,” Scott announced from behind them, still kneeling.

The fae’s expression rippled for a second before smoothing over. It turned and said cooly, “We always win.”

“Not this time.” Scott somehow struggled up onto one foot. This surprised Stiles, but if the fae was caught off guard it showed no sign of it. “He’s fighting you. You don’t like it, but he is. He’s going to beat you. We all are.”

The fae let Stiles’ hand go and put its arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. “He fights himself,” it said. “He inflicts pain on himself. We have nothing to do with it.”

Scott pushed against the fae’s magic, the vein in his neck standing up. “You have everything to do with it!” 

“He is right here,” Stiles told the both of them, annoyed and a bit worried. He was missing something.

The fae laughed, mocking and cruel. It’s arm came around Stiles’ neck, a strangling hug of rock-hard strength. “Our changeling fae is not of your world,” it told Scott. “When he accepts this, he will be free. Free to revel in who he is and what he can accomplish. What need does he have of you; an impotent wolf-cub who snarls and bites at the air because it cannot do anything else?” 

“Stiles is my friend!” Scott shouted. “He’s not your plaything, he’s not yours! Leave him alone!”

The fae flicked its fingers and Scott grunted then wheezed, his eyes going wide and his face loosing color.

“No, stop it!” Stiles cried, realizing the ramifications of such an action. “Don’t kill him!”

“Why ever not?” the fae asked, frowning. It seemed generally puzzled by such a request.

Stiles ignored the pressure he could feel building in his head. The headaches were coming more often but that was something to worry about at a different time. “If you kill him so close to the Summation the entire pack will come looking for us.”

The fae smirked. “Then we will do the same to them, it is of no bother.”

“But it will be. Especially if the police get involved, possibly even the FBI. His dad’s an agent.”

The fae looked over at Scott, who was turning an alarming shade of blue.

“There’ll be hundreds of people tracking through the preserve, interrupting certain other people who need to come,” Stiles continued, giving the fae a significant look. “Those who we’ve invited.”

“This is a possibility?” the fae asked.

“Yes. It wouldn’t matter if he went missing or if they found his body, the result would be the same. Town-wide search and manhunt for the killer. Everyone stopped and questioned.”

Suddenly freed from the fae’s magic, Scott started sucking in lungfuls of air.

“That will not do,” the fae proclaimed. “Time is closing. Human posturing can not be allowed to interfere.”

“And it won’t,” Stiles soothed. “Not if you let him go.”

Even though it had stopped strangling him, the fae was still uncertain, eyeing Scott with loathing as he stood up slowly. 

“He’s annoying hypocritical and I don’t trust him, but you can’t kill him,” Stiles insisted. 

“Then what shall we do with him?” the fae mused, a dangerously mischievous look edging onto its face.

“Take his memory,” Stiles suggested quickly.

Scott gave him an incredulous look. “No, Stiles —”

“Make him forget he was ever here.”

Scott went to argue further but the fae was at his side, pressing its fingertip to his temple. Scott stiffened, his eyes glowing red, then he dropped to the ground and lay unmoving.

Wandering over to Stiles, the fae kissed his cheek and picked up his hands, holding them in its own and smiling ever so gently at him. “Come, dear heart. Let us have some fun.”

Admittedly curious as to what it had planned, Stiles said apologetically, “I need to take Scott home. Then I’ll come with you.” 

The fae’s expression hardened.

“He can’t wake up here,” Stiles insisted. “I’ll be quick. Wait for me.”

“As you wish,” the fae relented, letting his hands go.

Kneeling by Scott’s side and seeing his eyelids flicker, Stiles put a hand on his chest, wrapping sunlight around the both of them. 

Within the time it took for Scott to open his eyes, Stiles had landed them in Scott’s backyard and was propping him up against the back door.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked, wanting to make sure Scott remembered nothing.

Scott put a hand up to the side of his face, touching the frostbite that was there. He eyed Stiles, saying slowly, “What happened?”

Stiles smiled reassuringly. “I found you out here. You look tired. Did you fall asleep?” It wasn’t his best lie, not even close.

“Did I hit my head?” Scott asked, sounding odd.

“Maybe,” Stiles conceded, thankful Scott had given a better excuse than he had. “You should get that looked at.” 

“Yeah … I will,” Scott agreed as he stood up and unlocked the back door. “Do you want to come in for a minute?” He was still looking troubled as he fiddled with a chain hanging around his neck which Stiles hadn’t noticed before. 

“For a second,” Stiles agreed, following Scott inside. 

Scott headed directly for the kitchen, sitting heavily at the table.

“You sure you’re okay?” Stiles asked, faking concern. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Scott insisted. He gave Stiles another weird look before saying, “Just … be careful, bro.”

A little thrown by the oddness of the statement, Stiles paused. “Sure,” he answered, wondering if the memory wipe hadn’t worked as it should.

Scott looked ready to say something else when the door burst open, admitting Liam and Mason in a tangle of limbs and teenage energy.

“Scott!” Mason called out, not seeing Stiles. “Chris Argent said there’s something big going down!” When he saw that Scott wasn’t alone, Mason’s eyes went comically wide and he shut his mouth with an audible click.

“Why didn’t he just call?” Scott asked.

“Your phone’s not working,” Liam said, directing a dark look at Stiles. “I’d guess it was because of the company you’re keeping.”

It was an okay slight as slights go, but Stiles wasn’t concerned by it. Not his problem if technology didn’t like fae magic. Besides, he was paying attention to Mason. The guy looked positively contrite at having spoken before he’d known Stiles was there. That was a lot more interesting than Liam’s attempt at big-boy snark. “What’s going on? This about Ramona?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott answered too quickly. “We’ve got it under control.”

“Oh, yeah, sounds like it,” Stiles agreed dryly. “If she’s up to something, I have a right to know.”

Surprisingly, it was Liam who answered. “The hunters have brought in reinforcements.”

“Liam!” Scott complained.

“What?” Liam defended himself. “He should know. It’s his fault all this is happening anyway.”

“You know that’s not true,” Scott shot back.

Sighing the put-upon sigh of someone who’d been hearing a lot of the same thing lately, Mason interrupted. “With the hunters we let go they’ve got around thirty in number and now they’re on their way to the preserve.”

Scott leant back in his chair. “Mason? Now’s one of those times where being quiet is a virtue.”

“You let them go?” Stiles exclaimed, not so much surprised as just frustrated. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We also released the one you tried to kill,” Liam pointed out unhelpfully. “Maybe he’s looking for some payback.”

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look before continuing to berate Scott. “What did you think they’d do, pat you on the back and say, ‘all’s good’ then leave town? Use your brain! They want to kill me!”

“Good for them,” Liam muttered. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” Scott asked, sounding just as annoyed as Stiles felt. “Your dad couldn’t arrest them, not without evidence we couldn’t provide.”

“What do you think?” Stiles hissed.

“I’m not about to start killing people just because it makes life easier for you,” Scott admonished.

“No, you wouldn’t want to have my back.” Stiles sneered. “Perish the thought.”

“That’s not fair,” Scott argued. “And not true. I’ve helped you before and I’m doing it now.”

“I vote for doing nothing about this.” Liam gave Stiles a grimly satisfied smirk. “Let him deal with his own problems.”

“You know what, Liam, you’re all bark with no bite,” Stiles announced, having had enough. “Go chase your tail.”

“Fuck you!” Liam fumed, wolfing-out and snarling angrily. 

Stiles snorted, not at all intimidated. “Way to make my point there.”

With another growl, Liam darted around the kitchen table, evading Scott’s grab for him, only to land on the floor and go skidding back into a chair when Stiles socked him in the chest with a fist. A loud crack sounded when fist hit ribs so broken bones was almost a certainty, maybe a pierced lung. As Liam wheezed and curled up on his side, Stiles was hopeful for both.

“Come on, puppy,” he taunted, clapping his hands on his thighs as if calling a real dog. “Come at me again. I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

“ENOUGH!” Scott yelled. He stood between them, giving Liam time to get to his feet.

“I hate you,” Liam told Stiles through his fangs.

Stiles smirked. “Feeling’s mutual.”

They stared each other down.

“Go. Home. Stiles,” Scott ordered. His own eyes were glowing red as he held Liam back with one hand. “This isn’t what you want.”

Stiles huffed in amusement. “I’m pretty sure it is,” he disagreed. “I’m having a good time actually. How ‘bout you?” He directed the last part to Liam.

“I’m going to rip your face off,” Liam threatened, shrugging free of Mason’s hand as his friend tried to calm him down. 

Stiles full-on laughed at that. “I’d like to see you try, little doggie,” he challenged. “Let him, Scott. It’ll be fun.”

“No!” Scott shoved at Liam, pushing him back a few steps. “Get out, Stiles. Go home. Now. This is over.”

Stiles glared at him, all amusement gone. “This isn’t over, far from it. It won’t be over until that bitch and every one of her people are six feet under.”

“You can’t kill them, Stiles.”

“You can’t,” Stiles corrected. “I have no such qualms.”

“We’ll stop you,” Liam said. 

“Oh, really. You and what army?”

“Me,” Scott announced. “I’ll stop you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t try it,” he warned. “It won’t end well for you.”

“I know you won’t kill me, Stiles,” Scott declared. “You’ve proven it.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Stiles admitted. “But I will kill them.” He indicated with his chin towards Liam and Mason.

“Me?!” spluttered Mason. “What’d I do to you??”

“Nothing. It’d be death by association,” Stiles explained. “You pick crappy friends.”

“You won’t kill them,” Scott interrupted, sounding so sure of it. “That’s not who you are.”

Stiles curled his hands into fists, so sick of Scott’s self-righteousness. “You have no idea who I am.”

“Go home, Stiles,” Scott told him again, turning away.

That was too much. To be dismissed in that manner, to be told he couldn’t do something; it set Stiles’ blood to boiling. He would make Scott understand he was not someone to be pushed around and ignored.

Jumping the kitchen table, Stiles tackled Liam to the ground, punching him so hard in the face that Liam didn’t get up. Then, before Scott had even twitched, Stiles grabbed Mason by the shoulder with one hand and the elbow by the other.

“Oh, God,” Mason said faintly, smart enough to know this wasn’t going to end well.

“You think you know me?!” Stiles exclaimed. “You think I won’t do what I say? For once in your life, listen. to. ME. SCOTT!!” By the end of his rant he was yelling; magic making his voice as loud as a werewolf roar.

“Stiles, let him go.” Scott held out his hands placatingly. “This isn’t you.”

Rendered inarticulate with exasperation, knowing then he was never going to get through to Scott by talking, Stiles gave a bitter cry and twisted the hand holding Mason’s elbow. There was a give but also resistance so he kept going; the breaking of bones loud enough to be heard over Mason’s scream of pain. When Stiles let him go, Mason folded to his knees, cradling his arm.

Eying Scott with scorn, Stiles asked, “Are you listening now?”

Scott nodded, looking at Stiles as if he’d never seen him before in his life. “I hear you.”

Satisfied, Stiles smiled grimly. Then he turned his back on everyone and walked out of the house.

***

The fae was waiting when Stiles returned to the grove. Its eyes were shining and its skin was rippling with color and light. “Come,” it said, taking Stiles by the hand.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Stiles found himself standing in his aspen forest, not far from where he’d been hiding the Nemeton spheres. “What are we doing here?”

The fae just smiled wide. Dropping Stiles’ hand, it vanished, leaving him alone.

Still a little riled by Scott’s attitude, Stiles stood there feeling annoyed and clenching his hands into fists. Strange was the fae’s signature characteristic, but it had never just taken him someplace for no reason.

“Hello? Can you help us, please? Hello!” 

The voice made Stiles still. A brief hope flashed through him that whoever it was, they weren’t talking to him. 

“Hey! We need assistance!”

Turning slowly, Stiles watched as two elderly women struggled through the snow, hampered by their overcoats and puffing outrageously. He was tempted to use an illusion or sunlight-leap away, it wasn’t his problem if complete strangers required help, but he didn’t leave. The fae had brought him to the aspen forest for a reason.

Stopping a good distance from him, one woman put her hands on her hips and bent a little at the waist, breathing heavily. Her face was pale white, almost matching the hair that peeked out from her woolen hat. Her nose was bright red and two bright spots of colour sat high on her cheeks, partially hidden under the frame of her wide glasses. “Whew!” she breathed out. “I was certain you didn’t hear us!”

Her friend stayed silent, strips of gray in her hair contrasting starkly against dark skin. She was staring at Stiles with an intensity that would have freaked him out if both of them didn’t remind him so much of someone’s mothers; the kind that bakes cakes and feeds strangers at soup kitchens.

The first woman smiled at him, her glasses fogging with each breath she blew out. “Can you help us?” she inquired.

Stiles didn’t answer. He wasn’t getting any dangerous vibes off them but he could tell they had magic and it was familiar in a way that was highly distracting.

“My friend and I are desperately lost,” the women said, a little uncertain in the face of Stiles’ silence. “We were walking and I fear we’ve wandered too far from where we should be.”

“Desperately lost,” Stiles repeated. He could feel the truth in what she said but it wasn’t the entire picture, of that he was certain. “Just where is it you should be?”

“None of your concern,” the second woman answered, a bite to her tone. She eyed his bare arms and chest, expression narrowing.

Stiles knew he must look all sorts of odd, standing half-naked in the snow. He hoped it put them off enough that they would leave. “You need help to find your way? I’ll give you some advice.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “It’s easy enough. Follow your tracks, you can’t miss them.”

The first woman looked chagrined but it rang with falseness. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, sharing an undecipherable glance with her friend. “I’m afraid I’m loosing my mind with old age.” She gave a half-hearted laugh that didn’t last long.

Stiles tried to figure out why the woman was so familiar, though her friend’s face was that of a complete stranger. 

“I didn’t catch your name?” the woman finally asked. 

“I didn’t give it,” Stiles replied, certain now he didn’t want them in his forest.

“Oh.” 

Another look was exchanged between the two. 

“Well, thank you,” the woman said, both of them turning to follow their tracks back the way they’d come.

When they were out of sight, Stiles used illusions to make himself invisible and silent, then flit lightly over the snow, leaving hardly a footprint. He caught up to the women in no time.

They’d stopped walking, the pale woman leaning on her friend. She really didn’t look well. Her cheeks had lost their red spots and her lips were turning an interesting shade of blue. 

Her darker skinned friend was less affected by the weather, seemingly in better shape, though her breath fogged out through a chapped mouth. Holding the pale woman upright, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Good enough. Can you get anything more off it?”

The friend pulled something from her jacket with her free hand, her glove obscuring what it was. “No. Maybe they aren’t here. Maybe they don’t exist.”

Stiles cocked his head, interest in the two women growing by the second.

“We’ll keep going, that’s all we can do,” the pale woman decided, pushing herself upright and standing on her own. The movement caused her to cough, her face twisting in a grimace of pain.

Concern was evident in her friend’s voice as she gently admonished, “Rose, you’re not going to be able to keep going.”

“I will, because it’s the only choice we have.” Rose got herself moving slowly, managing a few steps before stopping once more.

“Why did you call out to the boy anyway?” her friend asked. “Now we’ve had to backtrack and we’re going to have to wait for him to leave.”

Rose smiled thinly. “Curiosity, really. You noticed it just like I did. Don’t think you’re fooling me.”

Suddenly nervous, her friend shivered. “So what if I did?” She looked around at the aspens, her gaze flicking over Stiles without seeing him. “It was pretty obvious.” Lowering her voice, she said quietly, “Did you notice the blood on his neck?”

Stiles jerked back, accidentally knocking snow off a nearby tree. It slipped to the ground with a small whump of noise. Both women whipped around, peering into the forest. “What was that?” 

Rose relaxed first, chuckling a little before coughing again, her friend patting her on the back. “I’m fine.” Rose waved away the concern. “My lungs just don’t like the cold.”

They started walking again. There was a path underneath the snow where they were, but the women didn’t seem to realize it, their previous tracks crossing over it more than once like they’d been wandering around for a while. 

Stiles smiled. Perhaps they’d freeze to death before they managed to get out of the forest. 

The two women stopped, having suddenly come to the end of their tracks. There was no further trail to follow, as if they’d landed in that spot without having walked into the forest. Stiles could feel the fae’s magic at work, confirmation the women were the reason why he was there. 

“Our tracks are gone!” Roses’ friend exclaimed. “Where are they?”

“Good question,” Rose agreed, brow furrowed in thought. “It’s almost as if someone was playing a game with us.” She turned to view the trees around them. “It all looks the same, doesn’t it?”

“We shouldn’t have come,” her friend declared. “We should have ignored this stupid thing!” She shook the hand that held the strange object. “It’s not even working anymore!”

“This direction then,” Rose decided, ignoring her friend’s outburst and pointing into the trees, away from the path. “The boy was right in one thing, Rebecca. We can follow our tracks back here if we don’t find our way out.”

“And then what? Stay here until we die of cold?” Rebecca shook her head. “Rose, this is not okay, you can feel it as much as I can. There’s magic at play here.”

“There’s always been magic in Beacon Hills,” Rose told her, starting to walk, creating a new track. “I didn’t know it spread into this forest, but it isn’t surprising.”

“Oh, well, that makes it okay then,” Rebecca grumbled, thumping her hand on the nearest tree. 

Stiles curled his lip. Disrespect of his trees was a good way to piss him off.

“I never had any reason to pay this forest any attention when I lived in town,” Rose reminisced, touching one of the trees with something like reverence. “I should have. Quaking aspen really are quite remarkable.”

“I really don’t care,” Rebecca shot back, as they struggled up a tiny snow bank.

Jumping lightly to the top, Stiles watched their progress, enthralled by their conversation. Having found out Rose had been a BH local was just another clue to the mystery they were presenting.

When they got to the top, Rose was wheezing and coughing, Rebecca having to hold her upright once more. “We need to stop looking and just find our way out of here,” Rebecca said. “Forget the spheres, they’re only rumored to exist anyway.”

Stiles straightened up, staring intently. They couldn’t be talking about his spheres. That was just too far-fetched.

Rose shook her head. “We can’t, Rebecca, we’re finally so close. If we find them, we’ll be able to do so much more than we can even imagine.”

“Rose! I don’t care about the magical implications, I care about you not ending up in hospital! Besides, the wood isn’t working anymore, we can’t keep following it.”

“We can. It will work, it was working,” Rose insisted. “We just need to give it time.”

“Time! We don’t have time, you don’t have time!” Rebecca threw the object she’d been holding into the trees. It landed with a soft noise. 

Crossing lightly over the snow, Stiles picked it up. It was a strange thing; chunky and misshapen with a rune stabbed into its wedge-like surface by harsh strokes of a blade. Showing none of the craftsmanship Deaton carved into his pieces, it gave off a feeble magic which reached out to the spheres that had called it back to town. The spheres Stiles had used to call it back. 

Stiles stared at the piece of Nemeton wood, frozen in shock, a furious anger welling up inside. He’d been an idiot not to recognise these women for the druidic bitches they were.

“That was silly,” Rose admonished her friend, sitting down on a fallen aspen trunk. “You’ll be lucky to get it back and it was my only piece.”

Rebecca scoffed. “You need to be more worried about yourself right now. It’s just over there, anyway.”

“I think you’ll find it isn’t,” Rose disagreed. “We’ve been royally tricked.”

“What?” Rebecca walked through the snow to where the wood had landed, Stiles stepping back to give her room. “It’s gone,” she exclaimed, turning around and looking down near her feet. “It was just here!”

“Tricked, and in a whole lot of danger,” Rose said. “I’m so sorry, Becca. I didn’t think.”

Rebecca waded back through the snow. “What is going on?!”

Rose sighed. “You said you can feel the magic. But it’s not druid magic, is it? It’s older, far older, of a nature we can hardly fathom.”

Rebecca eyed the forest with a sudden wariness that made Stiles smile. He sidled up closer to her just so he could reel it in; her emotions spiked with a hidden fear he wanted to play with. “The boy,” she whispered.

Stiles snorted, amused they thought the fae’s magic was his.

“Yes, the boy,” Rose agreed. “That wasn’t a meeting of happenstance and we didn’t even realize it. I should have known it was too good to be true; the wood working for me after so many years of dormancy. I thought the fact it was leading us here was a sign we’d find the spheres, that we’d gain other pieces, those that have been lost over time. Never did I think it was a trick, a trap to lure us.” She shook her head, visibly upset at herself. “Maybe if I’d met one of them before I would have seen him for what he was, but I never have! What did you see, when you looked at the boy?”

Rebecca frowned. “He wasn’t wearing a shirt and there was a smear of blood on his neck.”

“And his feet?” Rose prompted.

“He wasn’t wearing shoes.”

“No, he wasn’t. They were signs; the missing shirt and shoes. He didn’t feel the cold.”

Stiles folded his arms, leaning back against an aspen. This was like watching a movie personalized just for him.

Rose waited for Rebecca to sit beside her, before saying, “Years ago when I lived here, I was called to service by the local druids. But late in life, later than normal.”

“I know this,” Rebecca interrupted.

“But not the rest, now hush,” Rose admonished gently, patting her on the knee. “Before I could finish my first year the druids were disbanded, sent away. Beacon Hills was to have only one or two druids in residence at any time after that.”

“Why?”

“We changed everything. In one night we stopped the stranglehold of a powerful people over the town and county, but at the same time made it impossible for druids to practice here in any great numbers without risking an imbalance happening again.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Rebecca replied. “Even if you had to leave. Besides, it meant we found each other.”

They shared a fond look, Stiles ignoring their moment of introspection as he silently seethed. It was amazing how druids justified the brutality of cutting down the Tree by blaming the fae. Balance had existed and the druids had destroyed it, not the other way around. They had some nerve, sprouting such lies.

Rose clasped Rebecca’s hand. “Maybe it was a good thing, maybe it wasn’t. Becca, I’m afraid my past has caught up with me and I’ve brought you right into the middle of it. Meeting that boy, our tracks disappearing; these things only confirm it. We’re lost in more ways than one.”

“We’ll just keep going, like you said,” Rebecca told her reassuringly.

“We’ll just end up back here or lost even deeper in the forest than we are now.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Rebecca challenged. “Since when do you give up so easily?”

“Since I’m beginning to realize just how big a mistake I’ve made,” Rose admitted.

Rebecca pulled out her phone and stood up. “Hang on, GPS tracking!”

A cough caught Rose’s next words. “Won’t work.”

Removing one of her gloves, Rebecca tapped at her phone before staring at it in disbelief. “There’s no signal. But we’re in the suburbs, how could there be no signal? Are the trees stopping it or something?” She held her phone above her head, trying to find a connection.

“Sit down,” Rose asked of her. “It’s not the trees, it’s the magic. Their magic. I should have known what I was feeling but I wasn’t expecting the strength of it.”

“Who?” Rebecca pocketed her phone and pulled her glove back on. “Rose, please, I’m not able to read your mind. Tell me who’s doing this.”

“The wild ones,” Rose said, finally naming them. “The sidhe, the fae!” Stiles noted the way she sounded equal parts awed and scared. It was a perfect combination, really. “The only thing we can do, is to wait. It won’t be long, I don’t think. The boy has already made contact.”

Rebecca sat down heavily on the tree. “He’s one of them?”

“Of course, didn’t you realize?” Rose looked at her in surprise.

“I just thought he was some kind of shifter! I’ve never met a fae, how would I know?!”

“I haven’t either,” Rose admitted. “Not personally. I was only in their presence for a short time on that fateful night.”

Rebecca stared at Rose, saying sternly, “What exactly did you do, if it is as you say and the fae tricked us into coming here because of it?”

Rose glanced around them, going so far as to turn where she sat to look behind her. “I think it would be prudent not to say, though I’ve possibly already said too much.”

“Because they’re listening to us,” Rebecca guessed after a pause.

“More than likely,” Rose agreed. “I don’t want to anger them any further than they are already.”

“They took the wood piece.” Rebecca looked over at where she’d thrown it.

“Yes, so it would seem.”

The two women fell quiet then, Rebecca taking Rose’s hand in hers once more as they sat together on the fallen tree. Rose coughed every now and again, hunching up her shoulders. Rebecca still fared better but she was soon shivering in her thick overcoat.

It seemed there was nothing else to learn from eavesdropping so Stiles dropped his illusions, keeping his glamor on. He’d look human but that was all part of the game. Sometimes fear was all the more powerful because the one causing it wore a human face. He knew that from personal experience.

“Hello, Rose,” he said conversationally. “Hello, Rebecca.”

The women clutched at each other in sudden shock. Their eyes travelled over him, once more taking in his bare torso and feet, and the way he wasn’t suffering from the cold. He didn’t even blow out plumes of warm air when he breathed, unlike themselves.

“Seems you’re still lost,” he commented. “In my forest, no less.”

Rose was the first one to gather her wits. “What do you want from us?”

Stiles waved a hand casually. “It depends. What do you want to give?” He knew what he was going to take but the game required them to keep guessing.

Rose nodded, as if all the confirmation she needed was in his refusal to give a straight-forward answer. “You’re the one who tricked us and brought us here.”

Stiles smirked. This was shaping up to be so much fun and he wanted to play. Winking at Rebecca, he started walking around them.

Pulling Rose up with her, Rebecca stood, positioning Rose behind herself as Stiles circled, turning so they always faced him. He appreciated her bravery, pointless though it was. 

Rebecca started to mumble under her breath. Stiles was certain it was druid magic she was casting but he wasn’t the least bit worried. He’d undone Deaton’s magic with no more than a thought. Two elderly women, with all the knowledge and power he was sure they possessed between them, would only pose a slightly more greater threat and not one he couldn’t handle. The fact they’d let him encircle them was very telling in that regard. Maybe Rose’s mind was failing her or maybe it was the fae’s magic, numbing her perception. He didn’t know or care what Rebecca’s excuse was for being so stupid.

The magic was building as Stiles did nothing but smile crookedly and wait, rocking on his heals, enjoying himself. He’d have to thank the fae for this little slice of entertainment, for without a doubt, it was watching.

Rebecca stood straighter, sure in herself, as her magic came to a crescendo. Flinging her hands out with a harsh cry, she blasted her magic towards Stiles; a direct line of energy visible even without fae sight. He had a second to be impressed with the amount of power coming right at him, it was more than Deaton had at his disposal, before it hit the circle he’d laid down and rebounded, knocking into both women and making them cry out in surprised pain. The magic then crashed against the other side of the circle, bouncing off and going through the women again, making them groan and jolt. It was a continuing cycle, the magic bouncing off the circle and passing through the women, Rebecca unable to stop it as she suffered its effects. 

Eventually, Stiles tired of the spectacle and drained the remaining magic into the ground beneath the women’s feet with nothing more than a little imagination and belief. Truly, when up against a fae, druids didn’t stand a chance.

Rebecca’s magic sparked once more in defiance then fizzled out, leaving her gasping and shaking. Stiles would be astounded if she had anything left in her. It would take her days to get over having her own magic used against her. Days she didn’t have.

Collapsing into the snow, Rebecca’s expression was one of pain as she glared at Stiles with hatred sparking in her eyes. She gathered Rose close to her, Rose mumbling and moaning as she turned her head into Rebecca’s stomach.

Stepping into the invisible circle he’d made, Stiles crouched down next to them. “That was fun. Wanna go again?”

Rebecca would have fried him if she could have, Stiles was certain. She was so filled with anger there wasn’t any fear, which really wouldn’t do. “You’re a monster.”

“Maybe,” Stiles agreed. A part of him still had trouble with that title but he was getting used to it. 

Resting his chin on his hand, he considered what to do next. His circle had been so effective he’d robbed himself of the fun he’d been wanting with Rose by rendering her unconscious. He pouted a little, put out.

But there was still Rebecca. Protective, stubborn Rebecca.

Slowly reaching out, Stiles placed his hand on Rose’s hip. Then he stared at Rebecca, lips pulling into a smug thin smile, and waited.

Rebecca’s bravado dipped, thought she didn’t show it outwardly, her courage failing as her eyes went to Stiles’ hand, then to Rose lying in her arms. Her emotions were a tumble of lovely tastes, fear spiking by the minute as time ticked on. “What do you want from us?” she whispered.

Stiles leant in. “Everything.” He blinked and let his eyes shine their mercury gray.

The blast of terror he received was everything he wanted and he reeled it in, taking a deep breath but otherwise trying to stay composed. Rebecca had no idea what she was giving him and that was partly why it was so good. Stiles hadn’t even done anything, really. Rebecca’s imagination was creating her downfall. 

This was such a good game.

A breeze swept over them, playing with Stiles’ hair. “You can come out now,” he said, chuckling as the breeze tickled over his head once more.

Rebecca looked at him in confusion, possibly thinking him mad.

“We knew you would not disappoint,” the fae told him as it glided over the snow.

Stiles stood up and stepped out of the circle, Rebecca gasping as her gaze flicked over the fae, a slight blush visible as she took in its very naked male form. 

“It was you,” she accused, understanding dawning. “It’s your magic keeping us here, not this child’s. Let us go!”

Her rude dismissal of his achievements was quite annoying, but Stiles just smiled some more, anticipation shivering up his spine. The fae’s arm around slid around his back, its hand coming to rest on his waist. 

Rebecca cowered away from them.

In that moment, Stiles felt so strong and capable, so positively powerful, he could not even fathom how he’d ever been anything else. It was vastly gratifying when he dropped his glamor completely and Rebecca flinched, sucking in a sharp, shocked breath. If only his skin was still swirling with cloud formations, then he’d be even more of a sight, even more fearsomely different. But this was enough. Standing with the fae, feeling the rush of true power within himself; it was almost indescribable. It was everything.

“Silly druid, trying to command us,” the fae mused. It tipped Stiles’ chin up with a finger, locking eyes with him. 

Swirled into the depths of storms, Stiles was pulled by a tide he fell into with no regret. He was where he was supposed to be and the total acceptance of that fact was so freeing as to send an adrenalin rush straight through him, leaving him light-headed.

The fae’s next comment was directed at Rebecca, though it didn’t so much as glance her way, having eyes for no one but Stiles. “We owe you nothing, druid. Your companion owes us.” 

Stiles heard Rebecca start to gasp, and turned from the fae. Clutching at her throat, Rebecca fought for air, her eyes wide and expression terrified as her lungs refused to inflate. Very quickly, she succumbed to unconsciousness, flopping over the top of Rose.

The fae eased its magic, Stiles watching the energy as it flowed away from around Rebecca’s head, letting her breathe normally once again but keeping her asleep. 

Unlike before, Stiles was able to see what the fae did, the way its magic flowed and arched through the particles that made up the earth’s oxygen, the moment the magic came back, sinking into the fae but also staying part of the very essence of the world, reaching out and connecting the fae to the snow, the ground, the trees, the sky. 

He saw the fae as he had only once before when it had finished changing him; a cornucopia of energy, unending and overflowing but retaining everything with ease, so much more than its physical form alluded to.

“Woah,” Stiles whispered. “Amazing.”

“Dear heart.” The fae stroked its thumb along Stiles’ jaw. “You see us. Once more you behold your creator.” 

It caught Stiles mouth with its own and Stiles could do nothing but sigh into it, wrapped up in magic and nature and so at peace with himself he didn’t want to ever loose the feeling. 

The kiss ended and the fae spoke, breath brushing over Stiles’ open mouth. “We so dearly look forward to being with you. But for now, perceptions must be blunted so our work can continue without loss of focus.” It ran its fingers down Stiles’ face with a devoted touch. “For you are so tempting, our changeling. We have never before owned such a treasure and if we were to have you right now, we would surely loose our way, loose sight of our objectives. Such is the influence you have on us.”

It kissed Stiles’ forehead and a blast of cold rocked him back from its embrace.

Stiles rubbed at his head and blinked, looking around.

In the circle, asleep, Rebecca was still protecting Rose, arms loosely covering the other woman. They looked peaceful and sweet as they lay together, completely unaware their lives were over. Or soon would be.

“Their fates are yours,” the fae announced. “As is fitting to the one who brought them here.” It bowed its head, making Stiles huff out a laugh.

“They’re for the Summation, of course,” he said, as if there was ever any other ending for one who’d cut down the Tree. It was so perfect, Rose healing what she’d helped destroy, that goosebumps rose on Stiles’ arms.

The fae nodded. “Such symmetry,” it agreed, as if it could read his mind, “is a pleasure to partake in.”

“I don’t need to haul them up the redwood, do I?” Stiles asked with distaste.

Chuckling, the fae’s sharp smile was all teeth. “No. We will have our human accomplish the task.” It kissed Stiles’ cheek, leaving a smear of cold where its lips touched. “This was a test, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, one we are happy you passed.” 

“Another test?” Stiles asked, perplexed. “Surely by now, you know I’m all in. The Tree must be healed.”

The fae tilted its head. “This was about influence outside our control. Magics being overridden. Unforeseen recurrence.”

“What?” Strangely, the fae’s words struck a chord within Stiles, dislodging something he couldn’t quite bring to the surface of his memory. One of the fae’s fingers touched his forehead, cold traveling across his brows, and Stiles shivered.

“Morals, principles, values,” the fae said, as if Stiles understood what it was saying. “Fluid as thought, though some would say not. But we know better and cannot take them for granted as we have been.” 

Walking over to Stiles’ circle, it looked down at the two women, showing on its face a depth of contempt that was as impressive as it was chilling. “More are coming,” it announced, as Stiles joined it. “The Summation will be successful. We are proud of you, our young changeling. Continue in this fashion and the Tree will be healed completely.”

Smiling a little bashfully, Stiles nodded. “Sure, will do.”

The fae vanished, taking Rose and Rebecca with it.

***

Strolling into the cabin, Stiles greeted Derek with a kiss to his jaw. Derek smelt of pine and snow and Stiles breathed it in for a moment before wandering down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Derek trailed silently behind. Stiles could sense apprehension coming through the claim but he was feeling so good it didn’t bother him. Knowing Derek was watching from the doorway, he put the Nemeton ring back on the dresser where it had been before it was liberated for Scott. Stiles flashed Derek a knowing grin, tapping out a rhythm on the drawers with his hands.

“What did you do to Scott?” Derek asked, face set in its blank mask as he eyed the ring.

“Pffft, nothing,” Stiles answered. He kept smiling, unable to be angry even when faced with Derek’s betrayal. “But I’m thinking you know that already, seeing as you two talk about me all the time.” He gave Derek another hug and smiled some more. “You really need to stop worrying, Der. Things are going so well!” Trailing a hand across Derek’s stomach and liking how the muscles jumped at his touch, Stiles moved around Derek to get through the doorway. 

Derek caught Stiles’ wrist lightly. “You hurt Mason.”

“Yes, I did,” Stiles agreed. He kept walking, Derek’s hand slipping from his wrist without resistance.

Back in the main living area, Stiles checked the fire, making sure it was blazing away merrily, before unfolding a blanket and laying it on the floor in front of the sofa. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, frowning in consternation.

“I thought that was obvious,” Stiles replied, sending Derek another smile. “I want to fuck you and I thought here would be romantic, being the place of our first time. Is that okay?” He caught the lust that flowed from Derek at the announcement and smiled some more, his face feeling weird from doing so much of it in such a short time and actually meaning it.

Another two blankets followed the first, then a couple of cushions, Stiles thinking ahead. He clicked his fingers as he realized the lube was missing from his seduction scenario and hoped over the sofa to get a tube from the bathroom.

Derek caught him around the waist. “Stiles,” he said, then stopped.

“Derek,” Stiles teased, knowing he must smell of lust and happiness.

“You feeling okay?” Derek asked.

“I feel sooo good,” Stiles answered. “Seriously, I haven’t felt like this in ages! Just let me get the lube and we’ll be ready to roll.”

Derek stopped Stiles from wriggling out of his grasp. His eyes were shadowed but the interest was there, spiking between them. 

Stiles wound his arms around Derek’s neck. “We can do without for a while,” he murmured, leaning in.

Kissing Derek was like having an epiphany every time and Stiles was moaning by the time Derek moved his mouth away. When Derek refused to kiss him again, Stiles rubbed his hand up against Derek’s dick through his jeans to get his attention back where he wanted it.

“Stiles, just wait … wait a second.”

Stiles stopped and looked at Derek, trying to be patient for the time being. He was struck again by just how beautiful his wolf was; those eyes, that jaw line, that mouth. Oh, that mouth. He leant back in.

“No,” Derek said, turning his face away. “Tell me what you’ve been doing first. You took your time coming home after you left Scott’s.”

“Well, I had to give him time to whine to you, didn’t I?” Stiles chuckled, then fake pouted at Derek’s frown. “Okay, shhh, I’ll tell you.” He was happy to oblige if it meant sinking himself inside Derek that much sooner. “We’ve been getting things ready,” he explained. “It’s going to be amazing, Der, absolutely amazing.”

“You and the fae?”

“Of course, who else?”

Derek stepped back out of their hug, but even that didn’t lesson Stiles’ euphoria. “You’ve been getting things ready for the Summation?” Derek asked as he walked over to the blankets on the floor.

“Yep!” Jumping over the sofa once more, Stiles bounced onto the cushions and wriggled in delight at the thought of what was to come, both at the Summation and with Derek. Watching his wolf with sinful intent, he took in the strength and poise that was about to become undone in the most wonderful of ways.

“Full moon’s in four days time,” Derek commented, looking down.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed once more, nodding. “I can’t wait.”

Derek looked at him sharply. “You feeling jittery, full of adrenalin, capable of anything?”

Stiles considered it. “I feel really good,” he agreed, beckoning to Derek with one finger.

Derek complied, dropping to his knees before the sofa and wedging himself between Stiles’ legs. Rubbing circles on Stiles’ thighs, his hands created warm friction that grew and travelled, heating Stiles’ groin like Derek was touching there directly. Through half-lidded eyes, Stiles watched his wolf, his wanting growing with each second. 

“I think you’re feeling the effects of the moon, among other things,” Derek said, as he nuzzled into Stiles’ neck. “I’m not sure how.”

“Mmm,” Stiles sighed, closing his eyes. “Among other things.”

Derek kissed along his jaw, under his ear, whispering, “You going to fuck me now?”

“Gonna fuck you,” Stiles repeated, nodding slowly. “Need lube.”

“Got it right here,” Derek told him, reaching down the side of the sofa and bringing out a new tube.

Stiles started laughing. “You ARE always prepared!” he crowed, referring to a joke made over half a year ago. 

Smiling and not at all abashed, Derek dropped the lube, gripping Stiles by the hips and pulling him until he lay with his ass on the edge of the sofa.

“Do you need to call and tell everyone what I’ve been doing?” Stiles said, keeping up the teasing. “I can wait, I don’t mind.” He wasn’t lying, either. If that was what Derek needed to feel okay about things, Stiles no longer had a problem with it. Nothing was going to break his good mood.

Derek gave him a look.

“What?” Stiles said innocently. “Just saying.” He ran a hand slowly down his own chest, Derek’s eyes following, until he reached his jeans. He pulled down the zipper and tapped on the button. “Help me out here?”

Making short work of the button, Derek divested Stiles of his jeans, slipping them off in one fluid, well-practiced move.

“Never is that not hot,” Stiles whispered, as Derek leant over for a kiss.

Derek’s own clothing vanished just as miraculously, and Stiles moaned as their dicks lined up against each other, Derek sliding over the top of him for a few short slow thrusts. Stiles closed his eyes, shivering at the intensity coming through the claim. Derek was all concentration, which worked just fine. Stiles would make him unravel soon enough. 

Suddenly the lovely glide was gone, Derek moving backwards, hands slipping down Stiles’ chest, to settle on his hips. Kneeling between Stiles’ legs, Derek stared at him without blinking, then dipped his head down. His mouth was sure as it moved over Stiles’ dick, lips covering teeth and giving perfect grip as he went down further and further. Stiles’ breath stuttered out of him and he couldn’t look away, his dick disappearing into a furnace of wet suction. Then Derek was sliding back up, a hand coming into play, cupping Stiles’ balls and rolling them gently in a palm, as blue-green eyes held Stiles hostage.

Losing the staring match on a particularly tight pass down his dick, Stiles arched his back and called out as his spine lit up in fireworks, sparks being felt right down to his toes. He tossed a leg around Derek’s back, keeping the other foot on the floor so he had something else besides Derek to push off of. When he started to move it was shallow at first, but he picked up pace when Derek encouraged him.

For what could have been hours, Stiles lost himself in sensation. The hot tight welcoming bliss of being inside his wolf was all consuming; numbing thought and side-lining all but the utter contentment they were both experiencing. His orgasm had him jolting and twitching, muscles and nerves electrified by glorious pulses, his come being swallowed greedily by Derek, who tongued at his slit, coaxing out every drop. 

“Fuck!” Stiles gasped, staring up at the cabin’s ceiling, blinking and rubbing a hand across his face. So much for him fucking Derek.

“Next time,” Derek said, letting Stiles know he’d spoken aloud.

Sudden fingers in his ass had Stiles squirming and he moved obligingly so Derek could get in there easier, hitching his leg up and over Derek’s shoulder.

“Eager,” Derek said, chuckling fondly.

“Want you,” Stiles countered, feeling so damn good and needing more. “Get in me.”

Derek pushed his legs to the sides, wider and wider, opening Stiles obscenely and lifting his ass to a ridiculous angle. If he’d been human, he’d have run the risk of straining something. As it was, Stiles was getting impatient.

“Come on, Der, come on!”

Derek huffed. “You’ve just come, let me do it my way.” He lined himself up, the tip of his dick resting wetly against Stiles’ hole.

“Fine,” Stiles agreed. “But just so you know, I plan on staying in you while we sleep, then fucking you again as soon as we wake up.” Derek thrust into him so quickly, Stiles’ laugh was startled out of him. “That’s it,” he said, between kisses. “Give it to me.”

“Shh, Stiles, let me,” Derek told him again, moving slower until he was almost still; the barest of movements, the tiniest of slides inside. The level of focus coming through the claim was intense. Directed a him, Stiles felt like he was being unravelled from inside out, Derek’s stare pinning him down.

“Oh,” Stiles said quietly.

Nodding like he’d proven something, Derek placed his hands under Stiles ass. “Hold on,” he warned before he pulled Stiles off the couch.

Sinking further onto Derek’s dick, Stiles moaned as he settled on Derek’s thighs. 

“You were thinking of our first time,” Derek reminded him, pressing Stiles back against the sofa cushions and thrusting up into him.

Stiles lay back as far as he was able, letting Derek move him how he wished. He clenched his ass once, twice, making Derek curse and run a hand across one nipple.

“I’m your wolf,” Derek said, kissing Stiles’ stomach.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed easily, smiling dopily. He carded a hand through Derek’s hair and rocked his hips, helping Derek along.

“And you’re mine,” Derek said. He stopped moving.

Stiles wasn’t sure at the sudden change in mood he was picking up. Arousal was still the big one but Derek seemed determined to prove something.

“Of course I am,” Stiles told him, searching for understanding. “Always yours.”

“Always mine,” Derek repeated, hand coming up to press against Stiles’ claiming scar.

Stiles instinctively tipped his head, giving better access. “Der, what —”

“Mine,” Derek mumbled, bending to lick a nipple.

Stiles gasped.

Derek started sucking on him like a nursing baby as Stiles tried to breathe through the sensation. He wrapped an arm haphazardly around Derek’s head, keeping him in place as Derek moaning into his chest vibrated through his skin.

“Fuck!” Stiles was getting hard again, slowly, but surely. “Oh, fuck.”

Derek’s hand on his claim mark didn’t move, just pressed harder and harder, making Stiles smile at the possessiveness of the move.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, feeling a spike in Derek’s emotions in reaction. “All yours. Always, my wolf. Love you. I love you, Derek.”

Derek left off his nipple, crushing their mouths together as he turned them, pushing Stiles down onto the floor. A pillow was shoved under his ass and Derek started thrusting into him at a rough pace, grunting with the effort.

Stiles watched him, saw how Derek was unable to look away, caught and held in their orbit of two, just as he was.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek said through clenched teeth. “My fae.”

“Holy God,” Stiles whispered, tensing up and becoming fully hard.

Derek smiled down through gritted teeth. “You like that?” 

Stiles could only nod, in shock at his reaction.

Derek leaned over him, bending Stiles nearly in half. “My fae,” he said again, causing Stiles to gasp as another bolt of arousal shot through him. 

Derek chuckled. “My fae, my beautiful Stiles, I love you.”

“Love you,” Stiles said back, then they were kissing again. 

Derek grunted once more, shaking as he came, come dripping out to trail down Stiles’ ass as he thrust into him twice more before stilling.

Stiles slithered a hand between them and jacked himself quickly.

“My fae,” Derek whispered into his ear before biting it gently.

Stiles spilled over his hand, groaning as his muscles locked up, causing Derek to moan as he felt it around his dick.

Neither of them were in a fit state to move.

“Jesus, Der,” Stiles announced. “Fuck.” It seemed the most appropriate word for the day, so he said it again. “Fuck.”

Derek chuckled, turning his face into Stiles. “You were going to fall asleep inside me, right?”

“Later,” Stiles promised, stroking a lax hand across Derek’s sweaty back. “Right now, this is good too.”

Derek mumbled his agreement.

***

They dozed on and off for an hour, Derek slipping out of Stiles sometime after they first fell asleep, Stiles finally waking to a warm blanket of Derek by his side and another fluffier wool blanket draped over them both. Turning over, he rubbed a foot along Derek’s shin, curling his toes into the hairs.

“Ouch,” Derek mumbled quietly, moving his leg away.

“Big baby,” Stiles said, sliding closer.

Derek opened his eyes. “Excuse you?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think so,” Derek disagreed.

“Hmm, you don’t?” Stiles retreated back across the rumpled blanket beneath them. “Who was the one nursing on me?”

Derek tugged him closer again, breathing hotly along his jaw. “Who enjoyed it?” he challenged.

“That would be me,” Stiles readily agreed, wrapping an arm around Derek in return.

Derek laughed and Stiles watched him fondly, touching Derek’s mouth with his fingers, tracing the curves of happiness he’d put there. 

A phone chimed with a message somewhere behind Stiles and he cursed technology’s way of always interrupting the important moments. Derek bent over him, rummaging for his jeans while Stiles amused himself by squeezing the ass put so prominently on display.

Derek checked his messages, not even reacting to Stiles dragging a finger up his crack.

“Anything important?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Derek answered, sitting up; the blanket falling off his shoulders. “You should go have a shower, clean yourself up before you get annoyed at the mess.”

“Derek?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“It obviously is,” Stiles countered. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” Standing up, he kissed a flummoxed-looking Derek before meandering down the hallway to the bathroom.

In the shower, Stiles was still feeling good. Nothing could break the total assurance he had that everything was going just right. The water on his shoulders and the back of his neck was almost hypnotic as he stood there and for long moments his awareness was only for it; the rhythm of the water on skin painting pictures in his mind of swimming slowly through bodies of water, surrounded and cradled by the Earth’s life-blood.

Coming back to himself, feeling calm and rested, Stiles toweled himself down before putting on his clothes and grabbing the Nemeton ring off the dresser. It should be put in the Tree along with the ugly piece he’d liberated from Rose and Rebecca. 

With both of them in his jacket pocket he went looking for Derek, finally noticing him through the windows, standing outside on the porch.

Joining him, Stiles leant against one of the poles holding up the porch roof. “So, what’s going on?”

Studying Stiles with a frown, Derek answered, “It was your dad.”

Some of the shine of the day wore off as Stiles tried not to loose the rest of his calm. “Oh?”

Derek held out his phone. A text on the screen read:

\- Keep S. with you. Don’t go anywhere. On my way.

Normally Stiles would automatically demands answers and want to leave just because he’d been told not to. But this wasn’t normally. He could afford to stay if it was what Derek thought he should do.

“The text is odd,” Derek said. “What if Mason’s parents are charging you with assault?”

“You think?” Stiles wasn’t so sure. “Nah. Mason wouldn’t do that.”

“You broke his arm in three places. Tore muscle. He’s lucky the doctors believe he’ll still have complete use of it once it heals.”

“Huh.” 

“You could at least pretend to be remorseful,” Derek cautioned. 

“But I’m not. I was making a point that needed to be made.”

Rubbing a hand down his face, Derek expelled a breath. “Fuck, Stiles, this is … you just …” 

Stiles found Derek’s reaction slightly ridiculous. Even if Mason had told the truth about what had happened, it wasn’t as if anyone could do anything about it.

“I don’t think you should be here when your dad arrives.” Derek sounded absolutely certain.

Stiles raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, it won’t help for him to see you like this.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, leaning further back onto the post.

Derek just gave him a look. “If you want to stay, it’s up to you, but I’m suggesting you go.”

“Would you come with me?” Stiles asked.

“All I want to do is to stay by your side,” Derek answered, walking across the boards towards him as Stiles smiled winningly. “You get up to entirely too much trouble on your own. Someone has to be the voice of reason.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.” Derek sighed, stopping short of touching Stiles. “I need to be here to talk to your dad.”

“We could leave him a note,” Stiles suggested. Reaching out, he tugged on the top of Derek’s jeans, bringing him closer. “You made me promise not to go off on my own. And I don’t really want to,” he admitted.

Derek tipped his head, looking intently into Stiles’ eyes. “You mean that?”

“I just want to be with you,” Stiles said quietly. “So if that means staying here, than that’s what I’ll do.”

“You sure?” Derek asked, leaning in. “You’re really sure?” 

Stiles touched the side of Derek’s face. “My wolf,” he whispered, bridging the distance and kissing Derek softly. He pulled back. “Together.”

Derek smiled his secret smile; the one that was for Stiles and Stiles alone. “Together,” he agreed.

***

When his dad walked up the path through the trees, Stiles was waiting for him on the porch steps, having been keeping tabs on his dad’s location since the cruiser had parked at the end road. Having his abilities back and using them again was like dipping himself in a lake of sunshine; energizing and calming at the same time. Stiles couldn’t believe how good things were going.

“Stiles,” his dad greeted him, sounding somewhat surprised to see his son. In an unconscious move born of confusion, his hand went to the belt of his uniform but not for the gun.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles replied, still wrapped up in his feeling of serenity. “Derek said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I did. And you’re here.” Again, his dad seemed genuinely confused as to why Stiles would be. “Where’s Derek?”

“Did you not want to talk?” Stiles asked, trying to put his dad at ease.

When his dad looked up at the front door as if trying to see behind it, Stiles smiled to himself in self-depreciation, having brought such skepticism on himself.

“He’s inside,” he told his dad. “We thought it would be best if you spoke to me alone. If you want to.” Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that his dad would have a problem with that.

“Okay,” his dad decided after a moment. “I have a few questions.”

“This an official visit?” Stiles gestured to the uniform.

“I’m trying to keep it off the books,” his dad replied. “I’m looking for Cue. Do you know where he is?”

The front door opened but Stiles didn’t look around. “Yeah, I do. Ramona shot him and he was dying, so I put him in the Nemeton.”

His dad’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “What?”

“He’s telling the truth, Noah.” Derek came out onto the porch to stand behind Stiles. “Cue’s okay, just sleeping until he’s healed, then Stiles will bring him back out.”

His dad rubbed at his head, thinking. “I need to see him.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Stiles asked. 

Derek moved behind him, pressing a knee against his back as if in warning. Stiles was just curious, though. If his dad had issues, they were his.

“That’s not it,” his dad said. “Seeing him will make me feel better about lying to social services and his carers. Which I don’t see working for long, if at all.”

“Maybe you could bring him out now?” Derek suggested, squatting down near Stiles. “Is he healed enough?”

“I haven’t checked,” Stiles confessed.

“You’re not keeping an eye on him?” His dad was surprised. “Why not?”

Stiles shrugged. “Ehh. Been busy. He’ll either be okay or not.”

Before his dad could say anything, Derek shook his head quickly. The two of them shared a loaded look, Stiles’ dad closing his mouth and frowning heavily.

Stiles knew his casual dismissal of a young boy’s life would be difficult for his dad to understand. Amused by the pointless worrying about something that couldn’t be changed, he hid his smile for his dad’s benefit. 

“Can you check on Cue now?” Derek asked him.

Nodding, Stiles reached into the connection he had to the Tree, taking a moment to just feel the magic and life flowing through him, both so much stronger than he’d ever felt before in the Tree’s un-healed state. Stiles flowed along the energy lines and deep into the core. In the heart of the Tree was Cue, safe and unharmed. The Tree had done it’s job, Cue was healed.

Coming back to himself, Stiles found his dad and Derek watching intently, Derek holding his hand as if Stiles might disappear. 

“He’s good,” Stiles told them. “Give me a sec and I’ll get him.” 

Sunlight-leaping right out of Derek’s grasp, he landed in the clearing at the Nemeton stump.

What Stiles hadn’t mentioned to Derek and his dad and part of the reason he’d left so quickly, leaving Derek behind, was that he was concerned. If Cue woke up, the first thing he’d question was Bonnie’s whereabouts. Stiles didn’t need that headache, not so close to the Summation.

Easiest thing would be to bring Cue out of the Tree but keep him asleep. The fae was keeping the druids asleep for long periods of time, surely Stiles could do it too.

Decision made, Stiles crouched down near Cue, who was still lying just as he’d been left, glowing with Nemeton magic. Dipping down into the Tree, Stiles found Cue once more. This time, he carefully plucked at the Tree’s magic around Cue’s soul until Cue was tethered by Stiles’ magic alone. Then with a little coaxing and a lot of will, Stiles pushed the stubborn boy back up the energy lines to his body and shoved him back in. 

Rubbing at his eyes, Stiles took a moment to refocus. That had been harder than expected, almost as if Cue hadn’t wanted to come back. As the glow from the Tree ebbed away, leaving Cue breathing on his own, he started to stir, waking up, and Stiles wasted no more time.

Gathering his magic, he imagined it flowing over Cue, trying to remember what he’d seen the fae do. More than just limiting air supply to make people fall unconscious, there was a subtle difference to the magic, a prolonging of sleep that also barred the person from dying. Stiles could put Cue into something that looked a lot like a coma.

It was just a matter of believing.

Manipulating his magic, he watched it sink into Cue gently, nudging him into a deep slumber. When it looked like Cue wasn’t in any danger of waking up, Stiles felt rather proud of himself. “Come on, sleeping beauty,” he told Cue, patting him on the chest. “Let’s get you to the ball.”

When they arrived back at the cabin, Stiles’ dad rushed over and Stiles stood up, backing off. 

“Why is he asleep?” his dad queried, lifting up Cue’s ripped and bloody shirt to examine the bullet hole through the material.

Stiles shook his head as if he wasn’t sure. “Left-over magic, maybe.” 

His dad kept fussing, checking Cue’s pulse and breathing, looking surprised at the fact there wasn’t even a scar to suggest Cue had been shot.

“He’s okay,” Stiles insisted. “He’ll wake up. Take him to the hospital, say he had the flu or something and you found him like this. They can keep an eye on him. Just change his shirt first unless you want to answer some interesting questions.”

“That should work,” his dad agreed. “Though it’s disturbing how easily you came by that lie.”

“It’s what I do best,” Stiles said, finding humor in his dad’s silly insistence that he should have better morals than he actually did.

His dad hefted Cue up into his arms easily, which was impressive; Cue was no light-weight for all that he was so short.

“I can take him,” Derek offered, holding out his arms.

“No, I’ve got him,” Stiles’ dad insisted, grunting a little. True fondness softened his features as he looked down at the kid. 

“He’ll be okay, Dad,” Stiles repeated.

His dad looked over at him. “Thanks to you. You saved him.” The pride in his dad’s expression was enough to make Stiles feel distinctly odd. It had been a long time since he’d been on the receiving end of such a look.

After juggling Cue into a better position, his dad started walking through the trees, towards the path that would take him to the cruiser.

“He’s right, you did good,” Derek told Stiles, giving him a smile.

“Whatever,” Stiles evaded. “You’d better follow him before he trips and breaks something.”

After pulling Stiles close and kissing him, Derek jogged away. 

Left alone, Stiles felt like he’d done the right thing in saving Cue and was happy he’d done it. Putting fingers up to his forehead, he rubbed gently as several sharp stabs left him with another headache. It was a stark reminder that not everything was okay. 

“Ow,” he muttered softly.

***

Stiles entered the cabin to wait for Derek, betting his wolf would take the opportunity to talk to his dad about him. But he didn’t mind; whatever made them feel good.

Flopping down onto the sofa, Rebecca’s Nemeton wood in his pocket created an uncomfortable lump in his side. Pulling out the awkward piece, Stiles turned it over in his hands, looking at it and feeling a stab of sadness. It was a shame the Tree had been used to create such a pitiful object. With hardly any magic in it, returning it to the Tree would be more of a symbolic gesture than anything else. It was so unlike the ring Deaton had made, the two of them together were like sugar and salt. Similar at first glance, but up close, totally different.

Stiles took the ring from his pocket. It thrummed with Deaton’s druidic intent and Nemeton magic. How the Argents had managed to keep the magic in the wood for so long without it being carved, was an interesting question. A more important one was if Argent had any more. Stiles had been meaning to talk to Deaton about the ring ever since he’d learned of its existence. Was Deaton, even now, carving more pieces for Argent to use? Were they working on a plan to undermine him, to keep the Tree from being healed?

Looking out the window, Stiles couldn’t see Derek. Indecision warred inside him for a few seconds, making his headache thump. Deciding not to think and just go with instinct, Stiles used the afternoon light that filled the room and sunlight-leaped away.

Arriving at the animal clinic, ring in hand, he walked through the front door, finding the waiting room empty. Stiles leant against the counter and sardonically dinged the little bell on the front desk.

Deaton came into the room, pausing when he saw who it was. 

“We should talk,” Stiles told him.

With a reservation he couldn’t hide, Deaton nodded. “Come on through.”

Opening the barrier, Stiles followed the vet into the back examination room, finding it amusing when Deaton stood behind the metal table, putting distance between them.

“To what do I owe your visit?” Deaton asked.

“Curiosity,” Stiles answered, tossing the ring at him.

Deaton caught it, giving it a quick glance. “Ah,” he said, a wealth of understanding wrapped up in one interjection. “What are your intentions?” 

“I’m not here to threaten,” Stiles let him know. “Merely to caution against whatever you and Argent are planning. If you hamper my objective to heal the Tree, it will end badly for you.”

“That sounds distinctly threatening,” Deaton noted, putting the ring on the table.

“No,” Stiles disagreed. “I’m just imparting a fact.”

Deaton didn’t reply for a moment. “Am I to believe you pose no risk to me and if we were to talk, I wouldn’t be in danger?”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed. 

“Can you promise me that?”

Stiles bit back a chuckle. “Of course.”

Deaton waited.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles held up his hand like he was taking an oath. “I promise I pose no immediate danger to yourself. I am here only to converse,” he gave Deaton a pointed look, “as you invited me to.”

“Yes, well, I’m here on my own and our meeting before last isn’t one I want to repeat,” Deaton said carefully. “So you can see why I’m hesitant.”

Stiles nodded, not offended. “Can we give up the formalities? I really do have questions.” He hopped up onto the examination table, sitting facing Deaton with his legs crossed. 

Flinching and stepping back as Stiles moved, Deaton otherwise didn’t protest how close they now were.

“What exactly are you doing with Argent?” Stiles asked. “Tell the truth, I’ll know if you’re not. Actually, how did you get around our pact in the first place?”

“I speak to him only about the people you’re involved with, namely Gavin Brine and Ramona Meahn. I don’t mention you. It is difficult, but not impossible.”

Reluctantly impressed, Stiles made a mental note to fix that loophole. “What’s he planning?”

“I cannot say with any degree of reliability. Chris has never given me that information.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“If I do, will you use it to hurt him?” Deaton queried. “Scott told me about your last visit to his house.”

Stiles pulled a face and scratched at his neck. “That was a necessity. Are you going to answer my questions or not?”

“I didn’t say I would,” Deaton pointed out.

“No, but you want to.” Stiles smiled thinly. “You want to tell me everything. And here I am, all ears, ready to hear you out.”

Deaton didn’t deny that was what he wanted. It had been a guess on Stiles’ part, but one that had hit the mark.

Leaning forward, Stiles cocked his head. “Tell me your story, Allan.”

Deaton was the first to blink and look away. “First off, I would caution you on the path you are taking,” he warned. 

Huffing out a laugh, Stiles waved a hand. “Consider me cautioned. Go on.”

Leaning back against the cabinet, Deaton got a little more comfortable. “Do you remember the dream I had, back when you were first changing?”

“No. But that’s not surprising, my memory’s been pretty bad lately,” Stiles acknowledged. “I’m sure Scott’s told you all about it.”

Deaton nodded once. “Yes. I have a theory about that.”

“I know why it’s happening,” Stiles interrupted, wanting to get back on track. “What about your dream?”

“You’re not going crazy, Stiles,” Deaton persisted. “Your memory loss isn’t connected to PTSD, nor any other mental illness. Not such are you’re thinking.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache making itself known again with a nasty jab. “Just … let’s stick to the dream, okay?”

Deaton made an aborted motion like he wanted to offer assistance but held himself back. “I dreamt of the Nemeton roots reaching out for something. It’s obvious now the dream pertained to you.” He gave Stiles a significant look. “I’ve been dreaming again.”

“What about?”

“The Nemeton, only this time it’s growing upwards as well as outwards. Sometimes the dreams are peaceful and the Tree is restored to its full potential. But mostly …” Deaton’s expression grew troubled. “I dream of the Nemeton roots breaking through the ground and destroying the town, the branches a web of death that stretches as far as the county borders and beyond.”

Stiles pursed his mouth, looking away. The lights in the clinic were making his eyes hurt. “How prophetic are your dreams?”

“They have always been more about what may be, rather than what will be.”

“Then the doom and gloom could just be a warning, which I’m very aware of.” Stiles shrugged away the concern. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Take some Prazosin and the dreams will stop, trust me.” 

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough,” Deaton warned. 

“You think I don’t take the Nemeton seriously??” Stiles snorted, biting down on the nasty retort that was immediately on the tip of his tongue. “The risk of chaos and strife has been hanging over this town for years. That risk, by the way, started when a certain group of pharisaic people chopped the Tree down and forced the fae to abandon their home, leaving the Nemeton unprotected and vulnerable, able to be influenced by whatever and whoever decided to play with it.”

As he spoke, Stiles’ ire got the better of him. Just the thought of what the Tree had gone through, and what he’d been through because of the druids fucking with things, making him loose his calm.

“This town is damn lucky that nothing evil with brains and luck on their side, ever stepped up to the plate. Now, because of a history I wasn’t even involved with, I’m the one who’s got to make things right in order to save Beacon Hills and everyone in it. Including you.” Stiles sneered, letting his eyes flash gray and a hint of sharp fae tooth show. “Not taking this seriously? It’s all I do! So tell me again, druid, how you think I should be reacting when you tell me there’s a threat.”

Deaton was quiet, berated into silence. 

Hoping off the table, Stiles paced the length of the room. The promise he’d made about Deaton’s safety weighed heavily on him but he wouldn’t break it.

“I apologize,” Deaton murmured. “I wasn’t thinking beyond making you see the danger. I forgot you live with the knowledge intimately in a way no one can truly comprehend.” 

Too annoyed to answer, Stiles nodded his head stiffly but stopped pacing, only to stand with his arms crossed. Seconds passed as he did nothing but breathe, slowing his heart rate and trying to get back to the place where nothing riled him, or at least to a point where he didn’t want to rip out Deaton’s tongue. 

“Okay,” he said, when he was able to continue. “Why’d you make the ring? Were you hoping Argent would somehow stop what you dreamt from coming true?”

“For me, it’s only ever been about helping the Tree,” Deaton answered. “I was worried about what the dreams pertained to. For Argent, I think he was hoping to prove something. I wanted to go check the Tree for myself but the ring was made with the provision he’d be the one to use it. How did you get it?”

“He gave it to me. What else is there?” Stiles asked, evading answering in full.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Deaton replied.

“Don’t give me that,” Stiles told him. “There’s something else, I can feel it. Something you want to tell me. Just spit it out.”

“Did you ever wonder how Gavin Brine knew to target you?” Deaton asked him. “Not the why, but the how?”

Stiles looked away, not prepared for that subject to be the one Deaton brought up. As time went by, separating him from that hellish period in his life, he wanted to forget more than reminisce. 

“I know the how of it,” Deaton admitted. “Gavin told me some, and with Chris’ help I think I’ve figured out the rest. I think it’s time you knew it too.” He moved closer to Stiles, as if what he was going to say next couldn’t be said with distance between them. “Gavin wasn’t interested in Beacon Hills, hadn’t heard of it, even with all his searching for the fae. He was at a standstill in his hunt. Until the day a man came to him, a strange man, who told him about our town and about a young fae who Gavin could use for his revenge. A fae called Stiles Stilinski.”

“Who was the man?” Stiles demanded, his heart beginning to thump hard in his chest. “How did he know me?”

“The man was no man, Gavin realized it after the fact. He was a fae.”

“What?” Stiles tripped backwards, knocking into the examination table. “That can’t be.”

“It is. What is more, Stiles, I believe that it wasn’t just any fae. It was your fae.”

“No. Not possible.”

“I can’t be certain, but Gavin had a security feed at his house which is where the man contacted him.” 

Stiles shook his head, not wanting to hear any more, but Deaton plowed on.

“He got the man on tape. Chris found the file on Gavin’s phone and gave me a copy.” Deaton picked up his own phone from the bench and after scrolling through it, held it out to Stiles. “Does he look familiar?”

Stiles stared at the video shot. It was good quality, catching the man from an angle that highlighted his sharp cheekbones and the top of his dark head. Stiles had never seen the fae’s human glamor but the man he was looking at could be no one else. The similarities were too strong, the haughty tilt to the chin all too familiar.

Moving without realizing, Stiles bumped into something that fell over, items tinkling as they broke and rolled across the floor. The room was starting to spin, his headache pounding. “No,” he gasped. “No.” 

Something hard was shoved into his hand and his fingers closed around it in reflex. Deaton’s voice came into focus as the room slowed down. “Stiles, you need to breathe.” 

Stiles started to laugh, choking on nothing, and Deaton caught him as he wobbled on his feet. “Sit,” Deaton ordered, pushing Stiles back to the table. “Keep holding onto that.”

Opening his hand, Stiles looked down. A somewhat familiar-looking black crystal lay in his palm.

“It’s letting you see past the magic the fae is using on you. Don’t fight it.”

“What?” Stiles looked up at Deaton. “What?” he repeated, not understanding anything. He grunted in pain, wincing, as his headache kicked up a notch.

Deaton grabbed a nearby towel and pushed it under Stiles’ nose. “You’re bleeding.”

Holding the towel to his face, Stiles waited for the headache to leave. Finally it dimmed, not going away, but at least the room wasn’t at risk of spitting him up anymore.

“Keep it, it may start again,” Deaton said, when Stiles tried to hand the towel back. “For future reference, never offer your blood to anyone. It puts them at advantage.”

Stiles stared at him, then put the towel in his lap. Opening up his other hand, he took a good look at the crystal he still held. Around three inches long, it was rectangular in shape and of a black so deep it neither shone nor sparkled. The magic coming off it was strong, though it seemed to be relatively safe.

“We believe your actions are not your own, no matter what you say,” Deaton told him. “This crystal, and others like it, seem to work against the magic the fae possesses. I wasn’t sure what it would do for you because it contains iron, but so far I’d say any negative effects are negligible.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Stiles said, preferring to riddle out the crystal than think about any other pressing matters. “But I don’t know where.”

“Well, it’s Schorl tourmaline or by it’s more common name, black tourmaline, and is very popular in jewelry. Perhaps you’ve seen some on Lydia or some other girl,” Deaton suggested.

“No, that’s not it,” Stiles muttered, running his thumb down one of the crystal’s facets. “Scott!” he said, suddenly remembering. “Scott used one like this to keep me contained in my house.” He looked at Deaton accusingly. “You did that. You gave him the crystal, told him how to use it. You imprisoned me.” How could Stiles have ever thought talking to Deaton like they were anything but enemies was a good thing? 

“It was only to help you,” Deaton insisted. “You are a danger to yourself, Stiles. Your actions are not your own.”

Slamming his hand down on the table resulted in a breaking, cracking noise that was immensely gratifying to Stiles. He glared at Deaton and lifted his hand, showing the remains of the crystal. It was now many shards, some having been reduced to a fine powder. 

“I’m so tired of hearing that I need help,” Stiles snarled, his glamor dropping enough that his eyes shone and his fae sight picked up on the tightening of the main artery running down Deaton’s neck. “But even if I did, it wouldn’t be from the likes of you.” Realizing his headache was suddenly gone, Stiles stared at the crystal, then at Deaton. “You’re the reason for my headaches, the nose bleeds,” he accused. “How did you do it? Give everyone a crystal and tell them it would help?”

He was guessing wildly, but Deaton gave himself away by the slightest waft of fear coming off him.

“You did,” Stiles continued. “Does Derek have one? My dad?”

“They don’t cause your nosebleeds or the headaches,” Deaton argued. “They only block magic. Specifically fae magic.”

“I am fae, you idiot!” Stiles cried, backing Deaton into a wall. “You’re blocking me!” He thumped his hands on either side of Deaton’s head, hard enough the brickwork sent out a puff of dust as he loosened the mortar.

“No,” Deaton refuted. “The headaches were happening long before I worked out the crystal’s helpfulness. Your head hurts because of the fae’s binding on you. Let me help you, Stiles, let me get rid of it. You’ll be able to think clearly again and you’ll understand just how far you’ve fallen under the fae’s spell.”

Stiles hissed at him, dropping his glamor entirely. “I will never trust you, druid,” he spat.

“You promised not to harm me,” Deaton reminded him.

Leaning closer, Stiles took in the widening of Deaton’s eyes and the way his pulse jumped. His fear tasted good, but Stiles wanted to taste the man’s pain. Disgusted with himself for promising not to hurt him, Stiles hissed again. “You’re only safe for now,” he pointed out. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky. There’ll be no promise and no Scott to stop me.”

The Nemeton ring was shoved back in his pocket and the bloody towel held in a tight fist. Giving Deaton one last hate-filled look, Stiles stormed out of the clinic.

***

When Stiles arrived back at Derek’s, the last of the daylight was disappearing. Still fuming, he stormed into the cabin, throwing the towel to the floor.

Derek jumped up from the sofa, making it over to him in record time. “What happened? Where were you?” His gaze softened when he took in Stiles’ face, eyes traveling to where the towel lay, and he touched Stiles’ chin with a careful hand. “Another nose bleed?” 

At Derek’s touch, some of Stiles’ anger melted away. “Yeah,” he answered. “Deaton’s fault. The bastard was lucky I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Deaton’s fault?” Derek’s face screwed up in confusion.

“I wanted to know why he made the ring.” Stiles took his hand from his pocket, the ring on his finger as evidence. “We were talking without arguing, amazingly enough, but then he started being overbearing and he gave me a black crystal and I got a nose bleed. Ergo, his fault.”

Derek’s hand went up to his neck, touching a chain that hung there.

“No,” Stiles exclaimed, pained. “Tell me that isn’t one of them.”

Pulling the crystal out from his shirt, Derek explained, “It stops magic from being used on the wearer. What did Deaton say to you, right before the nose bleed?”

Looking at the crystal, Stiles felt his anger bubble up again. “I don’t know, something that was annoying, I can remember that much.”

“But not the particulars?”

“Why does it matter? You wear this around me and I get sick. Take it off.” Wrapping his fingers around the crystal, Stiles went to pull it from Derek’s neck.

“It’s not the crystal making you sick,” Derek admonished him, holding the chain so Stiles’ couldn’t break it. “Let it go.”

“Take it off,” Stiles demanded, gripping it tighter.

“No,” Derek refused. “I know what the fae did to me and I’m not risking forgetting again. You should understand what it’s like to have someone muck with your mind.”

Stiles’ anger kicked up another notch, bleeding into the grip he had on the crystal. There was a cracking sound and Derek wrenched himself backwards, the crystal snapping off its chain to lie in Stiles’ hand. A tiny sliver had splintered off of one edge but overall the crystal was still intact.

“You want me sick,” Stiles accused. “That’s the reason for this thing!”

“If that were true, you’d be sick right now.” Derek made no move to get the crystal back.

There was a truth to that which made Stiles pause. He didn’t feel ill touching the crystal. “It has iron in it,” he said, trying to think.

“Yeah, Deaton said it did. It’s not enough to make you sick though, and the magic he put in it is very specific.” His fingers came up around Stiles’ hand, taking the crystal from him. “I don’t want to forget again.”

“I forget things,” Stiles said softly. “All the time.”

“I know.” Derek’s hand was warm against his. “It’s not your fault.”

Stiles didn’t think it was. The crazy damaged brain in his head was to blame. 

When Derek pulled him gently into a hug, Stiles gratefully surrendered to it, turning his face into Derek’s neck to breathe him in. Warm loving hands stroked down his back and slowly his anger melted away. Stiles was left feeling oddly sad and introspective, as if he’d lost something of great value but he couldn’t think of what it could possibly be. Hugging Derek tighter, he tried to push through the melancholy. 

Derek’s phone rang, interrupting their quiet interlude.

“Every time,” Stiles complained. 

Derek gave him an apologetic look which turned into a frown when he saw who was calling. “Hey, Noah,” he said, answering the call. “Everything okay?” 

Stiles wondered what it said about Derek’s life that he answered a phone call immediately expecting the worst. How much of Derek’s anxiety was driven by Stiles and his vibrant decent into crazy? Introspection well and truly getting him down and unable to shake the strange feeling of loss, Stiles was hugging himself by the time Derek hung up.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Derek told him, rubbing one of his shoulders. “When we get to the hospital your dad will explain everything.”

“What?” Stiles asked, feeling like he needed the word on a t-shirt he’d been saying it so often.

“The hospital,” Derek repeated, looking surprised by Stiles’ blank stare. “Weren’t you listening?”

Shaking his head, Stiles asked, “Is Cue okay?” He was unable to think of any other reason why his dad would ask them to go to the hospital other than something had happened.

“He’s fine. Ramona accosted your dad in the ward. She was contacted when he brought Cue in.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, worry giving way to annoyance. Ramona was a problem he had to take care of sooner rather than later.

“They had some words but everything’s okay,” Derek added.

“Why’d he ask us to come, then?”

“He didn’t say.”

“I’m failing to see how it could possibly be anything good.”

“No, me either.” Derek got his jacket and shrugged it on, finding his car keys in the pocket.

Stiles followed him out the door. “Do we have to take your car?”

“Your jeep isn’t here and it’d look strange if we rocked up to the hospital on foot,” Derek pointed out, not bothering to mention it was too dark for Stiles to sunlight-leap them to the hospital.

“Who’d even notice something like that?” Stiles whined, jogging behind Derek through the trees. 

Derek started to run faster. “You never know who’s watching, keeping up appearances is important.”

“So’s my spine’s health, but I don’t see you caring too much about that every time you make me squeeze into your crappy excuse for a vehicle!” Stiles retorted, keeping pace easily.

“How about this; if you don’t complain the entire drive to the hospital, I’ll look at getting something better,” Derek offered.

“Look into? You will get something better!” Stiles replied.

“Deal,” Derek agreed. “But you don’t get a say in what it is.”

“Fine!” Stiles overtook him. “Race you!” He beat Derek to the ranger’s hut where Derek parked his car. 

Derek crowded him up against the car’s door. “You cheated,” he breathed into Stiles’ mouth, nipping at him.

“I’m just faster,” Stiles argued, tipping his head to allow Derek’s lips to travel down his neck. Pulling his shirt and jacket out of the way, Derek mouthed the puckered skin of his claiming scar, making Stiles shiver. “You starting something you’re going to finish?”

Derek bit him, causing instant arousal, before he pulled the door open behind Stiles, making him stumble. Stiles shot him a black look. 

“We’ll continue this later,” Derek promised, winking.

“Bastard,” Stiles grumbled, adjusting himself in his jeans, before going around the other side of the car and getting in.

Derek was laughing, somehow folding gracefully into a space that shouldn’t hold him with any type of ease. He turned the ignition switch. “No complaining about the car, remember?”

“You suck,” Stiles told him.

Derek couldn’t have been more smug when he answered, “Later.”

***


	17. The Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushed too far.

Derek and Stiles arrived at the hospital with barely a word spoken by Stiles for the entire car trip. He was biting his tongue by the time Derek pulled into the parking lot and tumbled out of the car as soon as Derek slowed enough that he wasn’t going to end up under a wheel.

“Really?” Derek said, getting out of the driver’s side. “That bad?”

Stiles gave him a dark look. “I kept my part of the deal and expect you to start looking at bigger and better things as soon as possible and get rid of that rent-a-monstrosity. Take it back where it came from or better yet, send it to a car wrecker so no other hapless person will be subjected to its horrors. You can tell the rental people you did them a favor and deserve payment for services rendered.”

“You’ve been holding onto that for the whole car ride, haven’t you?” Derek commented dryly.

“I’ve got more,” Stiles warned, stalking towards the hospital entry. “Don’t push me.”

“I have a car on order already,” Derek answered.

Stiles stopped where he was, letting Derek pass him by. “You set me up.”

Derek turned around and walked backwards, entirely too amused as he said, “I just wanted to see if you could be quiet for an entire car ride. I’m impressed.”

“You really do suck,” Stiles said, as he started walking again. 

Derek waited for him to catch up, holding on to Stiles’ waist when he went to step around him. “I wanted to surprise you,” he explained. 

“You definitely did that,” Stiles agreed. “Wait. Why do you have a new car already on order?”

Derek looked at him like he was stupid. “For my continuing health,” he deadpanned. Then his face softened. “You don’t like the one I’ve got. The new car has enough space for a basketball team.”

“You brought a car … with me in mind?” Stiles asked, somewhat dumbfounded.

Again, Derek just stared at him. 

“You bought a car that’s big enough for us to have really good sex in?” Stiles continued. 

Derek snorted and let him go.

Stiles called after Derek as he crossed the parking lot, “When you say space, do you mean I could deep-throat you and not risk impaling my lungs on the gear shift?”

As he asked, a mother with a young daughter and teenage son turned a corner and came upon him. The mother glared at Stiles as she walked by, pulling her daughter towards her. The boy, following along behind, grinned at Stiles as he passed.

Stiles gave the mother a look, not his fault she had bad timing, and jogged to catch up with Derek who stood by the hospital entrance, smirking.

They entered the building and within minutes were standing outside Cue’s room. Derek walked in first with Stiles trailing behind, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Shut the door,” his dad said in lieu of a welcome.

Standing at the foot of the hospital bed, Stiles looked at Cue. What struck him most was how young the boy looked. Almost lost amongst the wires and tubing of IVs and monitoring machines, Cue seemed to have shrunk into the hospital bed, becoming nothing more than a small lump. The beeping of his heart monitor seemed to mock Stiles, marking out Cue’s life with unsympathetic precision.

“What do the doctors think?” Derek wanted to know. “He’s alright isn’t he?”

Stiles’ dad nodded. “They aren’t sure why he isn’t waking up, but they say he’s fine.” Looking over at Stiles, he questioned, “Didn’t you say something about magic being the cause?”

“Yep,” Stiles said.

His dad made a considering noise. “Ramona Meahn dropped by, apparently to check on Cue, though I doubt that was the truth considering she didn’t stay long.”

“What did she actually want?” Stiles asked, though he had a good idea.

“She was upset. An anonymous tip meant her ‘employees’ were found with unregistered weapons in their vehicles on preserve grounds. As none of them had hunting licenses we got them on a few different charges. Two family members are being held on unrelated charges in regards to warrants issued in three different states.”

Stiles smiled, imagining Ramona trying to wheedle her way out of that one. “She try to bribe you?”

“I think she was close, actually,” his dad agreed with disgust. “Luckily for her, she didn’t go that far.”

Derek suddenly cursed under his breath, looking towards the closed door. “Get ready,” he warned, just as the door opened.

“Melissa, I’m only going to talk, that’s it,” Argent said, walking into the room, Scott’s mom right behind him.

“I will have you thrown out if you cause a disruption,” she warned. “I’m sorry,” she said to Stiles’ dad. “I tried to stop him.”

Stiles’ dad eyed Argent frostily. “It’s okay, Mel.”

Melissa stood for a moment, uncertain. When she left, she glared at Argent, shutting the door behind her.

Stiles had backed up when Argent had entered the room, and Argent zeroed in on him. “Good, you’re here,” he said. “Maybe you can explain this.” Dropping a long flat bag on Cue’s bed, Argent unzipped it and pulled out a compound bow, its arrows spilling out onto the bed sheets.

“You’d better have a damn good reason for bringing a weapon into a hospital,” Stiles’ dad exclaimed. “I will charge you this time.”

“This couldn’t wait,” Argent insisted, staring only at Stiles. “Look familiar?”

“Should they be?” Stiles asked. Brine’s crossbow was very familiar and Stiles was wracking his brain trying to figure out how Argent had gotten his hands on it.

“Still denying, but I’ve got you this time,” Argent gloated. “Lydia took these from you. She found them in the cellar under the Nemeton.”

“Lydia?” Stiles couldn’t help but feel hurt. So much for them being friends. He’d known he couldn’t trust her.

“What exactly are you implying, Chris?” Stiles’ dad demanded. 

Argent tapped the bow. “These aren’t just any bow and arrows, Sheriff. The marking tells us so.” Under his finger was a symbol Stiles had never bothered looking at too closely, assuming it was just a logo. “This is Gavin Brine’s mark, a family crest of sorts. It’s on the bow, the arrows, his emails, correspondence. Everything.”

Stiles could feel the ground figuratively slipping out from under him. He very poignantly ignored his dad’s questioning look.

Sending out an extreme amount of smugness that was highly annoying and made Stiles want to break his face, Argent handed Stiles’ dad a phone, one that was again, very familiar. “This was also Gavin’s. Notice the mark on the back.”

As Stiles’ dad checked the similarity of the symbol on the bow and arrows to the one on the phone, Argent gave Stiles a nasty smirk. 

“Stiles was the one who gave me Gavin’s phone.”

Whipping his head up, his dad stared at Stiles, seeing the truth for what it was. “How’d you get Brine’s phone?”

Stiles silently cursed Argent to any hell that existed. “He dropped it,” he replied curtly. 

“Where?”

“At the camp in the preserve where he held you and Parrish,” Derek spoke up, placing a strong and sure hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I found it there when I went back, along with the bow and arrows.”

Stiles’ dad frowned. “Why didn’t you give them into police evidence, or tell me?”

Derek shook his head. “Bad judgement. It was a hard time.” He didn’t need to say why.

Stiles’ dad nodded, clearly thinking of the few days Stiles had been dead before the Nemeton brought him back. Hard time, indeed.

“I put them down in the cellar and forgot about them,” Derek continued. “Stiles gave Chris the phone thinking there might be something important on it. He was trying to help.”

Stiles wanted to hug Derek so badly but all he could do was stand there, watching Argent’s certainty drain away.

His dad nodded some more, clearly thinking. When he turned to Argent, his expression was grim. Even if he hadn’t been in uniform, it was obvious it was the Sheriff who stood before them. “I know what you expected to achieve here, Chris, but again you’ve been proven wrong.”

Argent opened his mouth, but Stiles’ dad held up his hand.

“I suggest you say nothing else. This is your official warning. You are to stop your harassment of my son. You will stay away from our house and from Derek’s. You will be issued with a restraining order if you do not and if you break that, I will arrest you. And believe me, I will take great pleasure in making sure your entire life is brought under scrutiny if you end up in one of my cells.”

Argent frowned, giving Stiles and Derek a dark look before reaching to retrieve the bow and arrows from the bed.

“No,” Stiles dad said, putting a hand on them. “Unless you want a charge of weapons possession without license and bringing a weapon into a public building, you’ll leave them here.” The tone of his voice made it clear he wouldn’t mind charging Argent at all, would relish it in fact. 

Taking a sharp breath in through his nose, Argent turned and left the room.

Stiles’ dad sat down in the only chair in the room, looking at Cue and pursing his lips. It was obvious he had something to say about everything that had just transpired. Stiles was good with leaving before that happened, even if he still didn’t know why his dad had asked them to come to the hospital. He took Derek’s hand and pulled, eyeing the door, silently telling his wolf to get his butt moving but before they could exit, his dad breathed out and shifted in his chair.

“You’re very lucky to have Derek in your corner, Stiles,” his dad said quietly. “If I were a better cop maybe I’d be doing things a whole lot differently, but I’m just going to tell you two to go.”

Stiles wanted to argue; there was no cop greater than his dad, but Derek stopped him with a curt shake of his head.

“I don’t want to ask the obvious questions,” his dad continued, “so you make sure I never have to.” He gave both Stiles and Derek a very pointed look. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Derek answered, while Stiles just nodded.

They left the hospital, crossing the parking lot with hardly a word said between them. They’d just gotten to Derek’s car, Stiles walking around the back while Derek got in the driver’s side, when Argent’s SUV came tearing up beside them, stopping with a squeal of breaks.

“Stiles!” yelled Derek, as Stiles stared dumbly at Liam who was in the driver’s seat.

The back door of the SUV opened and Scott jumped out, running over to Derek. He said something too quiet for Stiles to hear, something that made Derek look over at him in alarm. 

Suddenly, Argent was beside Stiles. “For your own good, and ours,” he said, leaning in like he was going for a hug.

There was a sudden heat in Stiles’ stomach, a piercing pain which radiated out and made him bend over instinctively. Argent caught him, stopping him from hitting the tarmac. 

Derek yelled his name again and pushed past Scott. 

There was hot slickness on his hands where Stiles grasped his stomach. He was bleeding. There was a knife sticking out of him. He tried to grasp the handle but his fingers slipped off.

Argent pushed his hand away. “It won’t kill you, Stiles, but it will make you weak. Don’t fight it, the more you do, the more the obsidian will take from you.”

“Carlos,” Stiles slurred, realizing who’s blade was in his gut. 

Argent’s expression narrowed. “There’s only one way you’d know the knife was his.”

Stiles fell onto the ground as Argent suddenly let go of him. Lying on his side on the tarmac, he watched Derek punch Argent in the face, before dropping to his side.

“Stiles!” Derek said frantically, rolling him over onto his back and making him cry out as the knife was jostled. Derek snarled, his hand going to Stiles’ stomach. 

“Don’t remove it!” Argent called, holding his jaw. “It’s a demon blade! It won’t kill him!”

Stiles felt strange. He could feel something dripping, seeping into him, crawling into his muscle, his blood. “Derek?” His voice was a mere whisper.

Looking frightened, Derek caught Stiles’ eyes.

“We can’t stay here, we need to move him,” Argent commanded, kneeling by Stiles’ side. “He’ll be unable to fight us while the blade is in him.”

Stiles blinked and there was Scott, staring down at him and looking just as frightened as Derek. “You’ll be okay, bro,” Scott said. “I promise.”

Shoving Argent back in a surprise move, Derek grabbed the knife and pulled. Stiles screamed as it caught inside him.

“Leave it in!” Argent yelled, grabbing hold of Derek. “Trust me! The blade is attacking the void, only the void, not Stiles! It’ll keep him docile enough that we can save him from the fae!”

“Derek, trust us, please,” Scott added, tears in his eyes as he held Stiles’ hand, black lines crossing his skin as he tried to take Stiles’ pain away. “Deaton has a plan.”

Derek looked at Stiles, utterly unable to speak. Finally, he nodded, looking away.

“By all means, lets sit around and get arrested, shall we?” Liam called from the SUV, leaning out the driver’s side window. “Come on!”

Argent went to scoop Stiles up but Derek pushed him away, snarling. “Don’t touch him!” 

Cradling Stiles, Derek picked him up, Scott helping by positioning his head. Stiles was unable to move on his own, the strange seeping thing in his body robbing him of motion even though he could still feel every inch of himself, including the pain that came with being stabbed.

“Put him in Chris’ car, yours is too small,” Scott said to Derek. “You can follow us, we’re going to Deaton’s.”

“He’s not being left alone with you,” Derek argued. “I’m coming with him.”

Getting Stiles onto the back seat of Argent’s SUV was an awkward affair involving a lot of pushing and pulling. Liam scooted over to the front passenger seat, making room for Argent, and sat there looking at Stiles with an ugly expression. Stiles stared back, unable to do anything else, until Scott shifted and Stiles’ head fell backwards. When Derek hauled him upright, Stiles could feel the blade cutting deeper. The pain was numbed by Derek taking it away, but the sensation of something thick running through his veins wasn’t dampened at all.

When all the doors were shut, Argent peeled out of the hospital parking lot.

“Slow down!” Scott barked. “We don’t need to get pulled over.”

Gently, Derek turned Stiles’ face until they could look at each other. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his eyes traveling down to linger on the knife. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles wasn’t really up to replying. He was starting to float, the odd slithering thing detaching him from his body with each passing moment. He could feel it unravelling his insides, the deep dark within, his very being. 

Derek shook him, telling him to stay awake. 

***

“Quickly, bring him through to the back and put him on the trundle.”

Stiles was carried through Deaton’s house and placed on a low bed that was hard but also surprisingly warm. Deaton’s face came into view, and Stiles managed to frown up at him.

“Scott, place the crystals,” Deaton ordered. “Chris, the powders if you will. Derek, move back and let me work.”

“No,” Derek refused, crouching down by Stiles’ right, the blue of his wolf eyes shining. “Work around me.”

Deaton didn’t bother to argue, checking Stiles’ pulse and frowning as he did. “Stiles?” he asked, waiting for Stiles to flick his eyes over to him. “I’m going to remove the blade. It will hurt.”

At the first tugging sensation, Stiles’ back arched and he cried out while sucking in a lungful of air. 

“Hold him, Derek,” Deaton ordered.

The tugging continued and Stiles writhed, unable to control his body. The creeping thing inside him had teeth and it held on, chomping hard into his very blood.

“It’s fighting me,” Deaton complained. “It hasn’t destroyed the void and won’t let go.”

“Should we just wait until it does then?” Scott asked. “He’s not looking very good.”

“No,” Deaton grunted, more tugging punctuating his words. “Once again, it seems I’ve underestimated in regards to Stiles; the void is more a part of him then I assumed. We can’t allow the blade to continue its work.”

“If he dies from your actions, Allan,” Derek threatened slowly through a growl, “then so do you.”

Deaton looked up, catching Derek’s eyes. “He won’t die.”

There was a particularly rough tug on Stiles’ navel. With a sudden rush of adrenalin, he managed to aim a flailing fist, catching Deaton on the arm and pushing him over from where he knelt by the trundle.

“Grab him!” Argent urged.

Held down by five sets of hands, Stiles was unable to do anything as Deaton produced a scalpel and bent over him once more.

“Oh God,” came the weak voice of Liam. “No one deserves this.”

A sharp pain took up residence near the tearing one in Stiles’ stomach. He cried out and squeezed his eyes shut but that just made the pain brighter so he fixed his gaze on Derek and didn’t look away.

Deaton kept cutting and pulling. 

The thing inside Stiles was loosing. With a final pull at his insides, it retreated, scraping through him inch by inch as Deaton cut him wide and maneuvered the blade. With a gushing rush of something, it slipped out. Stiles coughed and groaned while Derek held onto him, murmuring calming noises in his ear and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh, geeze, what the hell is that?” Liam gagged, leaning over Stiles’ legs as he dry heaved.

A retched stink wafted up in the room and everyone around Stiles reacted, wrinkling faces and holding arms up to their noses. Derek hid his face in his shoulder, both hands busy holding Stiles. Deaton seemed the only one not affected.

“Magic residue,” he replied to Liam’s question, wiping at Stiles’ stomach. There was something puss-like on the cloth when he finished. “Scott, help me here.”

Stiles rolled his head into Derek’s arm, feeling tired and ill, as Scott started to help Deaton clean his wound.

“Do you see,” Deaton murmured. “An instant infection. Press here, we’ll flush him out.”

Scott pressed down on Stiles’ stomach as Deaton pored something over him. Stiles could feel it running in and out of him at the same time, dripping across his skin to be mopped up by a hastily placed towel.

“That’s disgusting,” Liam announced. “Why’s there so much?”

“The magic in the blade should have killed the void within Stiles,” Deaton answered, prodding at Stiles’ cut. “Good, Scott, it’s clean. Now the sutures.” He looked up at Liam. “My best guess is, the void fought back, which resulted in the infection you’ve just seen.”

“Stop,” Stiles pleaded, trying to raise a hand to push Scott away as he bent over Stiles’ stomach, stitching him up. 

Stiles could feel the needle pressing through his flesh and the tug of thread. It wasn’t as bad as the obsidian knife, but he didn’t want anyone touching him anymore. Only Derek. Everyone else brought pain.

“Nearly done,” Scott tried to assure him.

Stiles got his hand on Scott’s wrist. “Stop.”

Derek reached over his body and took his hand, holding it close to Stiles’ chest. “You need this, just let him help you.”

Stiles wanted to point out he only needed to be stitched up because of these people. They did this to him; stabbed him and hurt him and made him feel weak, unable to defend himself with magic or anything else. He should have destroyed the knife when he first laid eyes on it.

“Give him a little while and he should start to heal,” Deaton proclaimed when Scott was finished. “Liam, the sheets, please.”

Without complaint, Liam pulled several sheets up over Stiles legs, a troubled look in his gaze when their eyes met for the briefest of seconds. “He’s shivering.”

Checking Stiles’ pulse again, Deaton looked him over with a critical eye. He fiddled with something by the side of the trundle, out of Stiles’ sight, and the bed began to heat up more than it already was. After a while, Stiles was encased in a warmth that flowed all around him, making him sleepy.

“Are you taking too much?” Deaton asked Derek gently.

Moving his head slightly, Stiles saw where Derek was touching him and noticed the continual flow of black lines streaming up his arm. That would account for the stomach pain being nothing more than a dull ache.

“No. Anyway, he needs it,” Derek said, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

“He’ll be okay, Derek,” Deaton assured him.

“No thanks to you.”

“It was cruel, I’ll agree,” Deaton murmured. “Mistakes were made. But we have him now in a space where he can be healed.”

“He only needs healing because Chris stuck a knife in him!”

“You know that’s not true. Stiles’ needs are more then just physical. While he’s here, I’ll be able to undo the hold the fae has on him, then he’ll be amenable to seeing things our way.”

Derek’s expression was ugly. “That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? Weaken him enough to capture him, pry him apart, and make him how you want him to be. This isn’t about helping Stiles, it’s about gaining power over him. He was right. Neither you nor Chris can be trusted.”

Deaton frowned. “It certainly could be seen that way. I do have an ulterior motive of wanting to protect the town from whatever the fae and Stiles are planning, because whatever it is, it bodes no good. My dreams tell me so.”

There was a moment where Derek looked away.

“From the look on your face, you know this too,” Deaton guessed. He looked down at Stiles. “I do want to help him for his own sake, though. He’s been used enough, don’t you agree?”

Derek’s jaw was stiff, his tone wary when he answered, “Yes.”

“Then let me do my best to rid him of the fae’s hold over him. I can’t promise to end it completely, I doubt I could, but I do believe I can stop the manipulations on his memory at least.” 

Derek didn’t answer and after a while, Deaton moved out of sight and a door closed somewhere off to Stiles’ left. 

Suddenly, he had Derek in his face, whispering to him. “Stiles, I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.” Derek eyed the room before leaning closer. “I still don’t,” he admitted, the self-recrimination he felt plain as day. 

Stiles gave a small tired smile, trying to convey how none of this was Derek’s fault.

“Fuck,” Derek cursed, putting his head down on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll fix this,” he promised.

***

Stiles didn’t think he slept but when he came to, there was familiar smoke in the air clogging up the small room. He coughed and tried to block his nose, the lethargy that came with the burning of Deaton’s evil herbs stopping him from doing it effectively.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Deaton remarked from somewhere Stiles couldn’t see. “You’ll feel a lot better soon.”

Time seemed to pass then; a flurry of distorted images moving around as people flickered into being then out again, sunlight coming and going across the walls of the room. The one constant was Derek; always there when Stiles focussed long enough to notice. 

There was also a coldness in the air that sent Stiles into a shivering he couldn’t stop, even with the warmth from the trundle bed offsetting it.

“It’s not working as well as I’d hoped,” he heard Deaton say, when the sunlight was at its lowest and the room was dim. “The fae’s hold is incredibly strong. Perhaps if we used Stiles’ own magic to counter it …”

Stiles tuned out. He was sore. He was cold. He ached and he hurt. He dreamed. The fae was talking to him in the astral plane, begging him for something, looking for him.

Swallowing slowly, Stiles felt the movement down in his toes. He blinked, looking around without moving and taking note of how the smoke was gone and the air was clean and fresh.

“Hey, bro,” Scott said quietly, coming into view and dropping down by his side. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles didn’t answer. It should be obvious how he felt.

“You’ve been pretty out of it,” Scott told him. “For about a day, but you’re healing well.”

Scott had to be lying, Stiles remembered a period of time that stretched on and on. He struggled to sit up, despairing at the weakness in his limbs. The room was in darkness, the one window covered by a curtain, stopping the daylight from spilling in and Stiles gaining strength by it.

“You shouldn’t be moving yet,” Deaton advised him, coming in from another room.

Out of necessity, Stiles squashed down the anger that threatened to overtake him, hiding it under indifference. It meant he couldn’t tell Deaton where he could put his medical advice or Scott to back the fuck out of his personal space, but it was better than attacking. He needed more information. He needed them to think he was docile and serene, easily controlled. Just like they wanted. 

“Do you mind if I check?” Deaton asked, coming closer and motioning to Stiles’ stomach.

“Yes, I do,” Stiles spat out, then reigned himself back in. Slowly, he held up his shirt, showing completely healed skin, no sutures or scaring in evidence. Apart from a slight twinge it was like the stabbing never happened. “Good enough?” he asked, flipping the shirt back down.

“It seems to be,” Deaton agreed. “Now about your memory —”

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles interrupted.

Scott and Deaton looked at each other, Scott saying evasively, “He’ll be back.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s checking up on something with your father,” Deaton told him. “Stiles, we really should deal with things here before he gets back.”

Stiles leant back on the trundle, slowly. “What things?” he asked, warnings going off in his brain. He took another quick look around the room, noting crystals and a circle around the bed made of pixie powder. 

“Your memory needs fixing,” Scott told him. 

“We should start as soon as possible,” Deaton added.

The warnings kicked up a notch and Stiles tried stalling. “I’d feel better if we waited for Derek.” Trying to keep his heartbeat normal was becoming difficult.

Scott looked once more at Deaton, then back to Stiles. “They found something in the preserve and Derek could be awhile. Lets work on this before he gets back with your dad.”

“My dad’s coming here?” 

Scott nodded, and a bit of hope within Stiles dribbled away. His dad knew what had happened to him and hadn’t stopped it.

“What did they find?” he asked, putting his hands under the sheet that was covering him to hide the twitching that had started.

“It’s not important right now,” Deaton interrupted, but Stiles was looking at Scott and saw that wasn’t at all true.

“Scott, what did they find?”

“They found a body.”

“A body,” Stiles repeated, mentally listing everyone it could be. There were a few to choose from. “And my dad asked Derek to help?”

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “That’s all I know. But Stiles …”

“That’s quite enough for now, Scott,” Deaton cut in. “Let’s get started.”

“No,” Stiles told them. “You’re not touching me.” He scooted off the trundle and backed up to the pixie dust circle, unable to step over it. “Stay away,” he warned, his act of being docile falling away.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Deaton said, while Scott slowly stood up. “We’re trying to help you.”

“Like the iron rod you used to burn me, or the herbs and crystals that drug and imprison me, or the knife you had Argent stab me with, you mean help like that?” Stiles said hotly. “I’ll pass.”

“I admit some methods were not the best. But I am trying here,” Deaton argued gently. 

“I am not your guinea pig, druid!” Stiles snarled. “You won’t experiment on me again!”

“Stiles, that’s not what he’s doing,” Scott spoke up. “Please try to think. You know in your heart we don’t want to hurt you.” He put a hand on his chest imploringly. “You know I don’t want to.”

“Not wanting to means nothing when you still do it, Scott,” Stiles pointed out. “Just stay where you are or you’ll get more than just lightning sent your way.” 

The only time he’d used his magic on purpose to hurt was when he’d blinded Ramona’s guy with a sunlight beam, and that was because Derek was in danger. But Stiles had a vast amount of magic at his disposal. Perhaps it was time to use that magic to show just why people shouldn’t fuck with him. After all, nothing else seemed to work.

“This isn’t going to solve anything,” Deaton began.

“No,” Scott said, cutting him off. “It’s okay, Stiles. We’ll leave you alone. Your dad will be here with Derek and we’ll go from there, okay?” Scott urged Deaton to leave the room then gave Stiles one last look. “We’ve hurt you, I get it,” he said quietly. “I never meant to. I’m sorry.” 

Left in relative privacy after Scott closed the door, Stiles breathed out in relief. Step one accomplished, he surveyed the circle by his feet. Time for step two.

***

Stiles wanted to scream in frustration as he worked his magic on the crystals and powder that held him hostage. For hours it seemed, he’d tried numerous ways of thinking around the problem but the powder remained in its stubborn circle and the crystals wouldn’t break or even just release their magic.

Letting out a groan, he flopped back onto the trundle bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, thumping a hand down. “Fuck!” 

The door opened, letting a bit of light into the room. Derek came in, Stiles’ dad following with Scott and Deaton right behind. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked away, not bothering to get up from where he was.

Derek sat down next to him, squishing onto the edge of the trundle. He took up Stiles’ hand and concern-love-worry-determination came through the claim.

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, as Stiles’ dad pulled up a chair next to them. 

“Hey,” Stiles replied.

“Kiddo,” his dad said, getting Stiles to look at him. “We need to talk.”

Stiles hardened his gaze, shooting a look of contempt over at Scott and Deaton. 

“Scott, Allan, can you give us some privacy please?” Stiles’ dad asked. “And I mean actual privacy, not a semblance of it.”

Scott looked affronted. “This is Deaton’s house, Sheriff.”

“Yes, and you kidnapped my son. Do you want me to change my mind on the benefits of him being here, and decide to act on the illegal ramifications of your actions?” 

That caught Stiles’ interest. His dad had gone from polite to threatening in under a minute. He sat up with an amused smile. Things could get interesting if Scott persisted. Stiles could only hope.

“Come on, Scott,” Deaton said. “We’ll go for a drive to the clinic, I need to pick up some things anyway. We’ll be back in an hour,” he told Stiles’ dad. “Do you think you’ll have things in hand by then?”

Stiles’ dad gave Stiles a look, weighing him up. “Yes, we’ll be done by then.” 

Deaton and Scott left the room and a few minutes later, Derek nodded, saying, “You’re good.”

“What’s this about?” Stiles asked.

His dad rubbed a hand across his mouth, frowning. “Before we get to that, how are you?”

The question took Stiles by surprise. “Is this a good cop, bad cop thing? You’re an accomplice to my kidnapping, so what does it matter to you how I’m feeling?”

“I don’t like what Chris did to you,” his dad told him. “But I can’t charge him with assault without things getting entirely too public. I’ve issued a restraining order instead. You won’t be seeing him again.”

“I feel so much better,” Stiles deadpanned.

“Don’t be like that,” his dad said.

“How do you want me to be? Grateful for a gesture that’s too little, too late? Well it is, Dad.” Stiles waved his hands around at the room. “Once again, I’m in the clutches of someone who hurt me. Who wants to hurt me some more. And you’re letting him. So when you ask how I am, like you care about my wellbeing, can you see how I might take offense to your hypocritical bullshit?”

After sharing a look with Derek, his dad admitted reluctantly, “Things haven’t been going right for a while, I know. And as soon as I think it’s in your best interests, you’ll be able to leave, I promise, but right now I think you should stay here.”

“I don’t have any say in this, do I?” Stiles said bluntly. “You can dress it up all you like but this is exactly what Brine did to me, what Ramona wants to do to me. It’s just your turn, I guess.”

“It’s not like that,” Derek told him. “We want to keep you safe.”

Stiles held up his shirt to highlight the dried blood on it. “This is safe?” He pointed to the crystals and the magic circle. “This is safe?”

“For the moment, that is, yes,” his dad said, nodding to the pixie powder. “It keeps you in, but it also keeps others out. And that is what makes this the safest place for you.”

“Others. You mean the fae, don’t you?” Stiles looked at them both incredulously. “You still believe its a danger to me, even after everything I’ve said. You still believe Deaton’s lies.”

“I believe what I see,” his dad corrected. “And I see my son sinking under the fae’s influence, becoming something he’s been trying hard to fight against, even if he doesn’t realize it. But he’s loosing. He’s doing things he’d never condone if he was able to think more clearly. So I need to step in and help him, even if he doesn’t believe he needs it.”

“Dad —”

“No, that’s enough. Things are the way they are, as you like to tell me, so we go forward from here. You want to believe I’m doing this for reasons other than to keep you safe, then you go ahead and think that. There’s something important we have to discuss and we’ll do it whether you’re cooperative about it or not.”

Stiles snorted. “What’s this something important then, if not my incarceration?”

Again, Derek and his dad looked at each other. 

“Stefanie Meahn’s body was found this morning,” his dad said.

Stiles stilled. He’d forgotten all about the body Scott had mentioned. He bit his lips. “How … where was she found?” he asked. That seemed to be the most obvious thing to want to know after being told someone was dead.

“In the preserve, not far from the main picnic ground. A couple of skiers found her. She’d been wrapped in a plastic tarp and dumped just off one of the walking tracks.”

Stiles rocked back in shock. “What?” That couldn’t be right, that’s not where he’d left her.

His dad was looking at him intently. “Stiles, I don’t know how to … I’m just going to lay it all out there, alright? And you can, just … Stefanie was stabbed, that’s the unofficial cause of death. The suspected murder weapon was found in the tarp with her. An iron-tipped arrow.”

Stiles blinked. He’d been tripping when he’d placed Stefanie up the tree and couldn’t remember details other than her slack face and the blood. If he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have never left the arrow with the body. That was just stupid.

“I recognized the arrow, Stiles,” his dad continued. “It has Gavin Brine’s symbol on it and matches the ones Chris brought to the hospital. I haven’t reported what I know for obvious reasons but now I need to ask what I don’t want to.” He looked directly at Stiles. “Did you kill her, son?”

Stiles turned away slightly but was unable to drop his gaze completely from his dad’s. He didn’t want to tell the truth but there was a part of him that suddenly wanted his dad’s understanding and help with the whole thing. He shook his head, unable to answer.

“You didn’t do it?” His dad sat forward. “Stiles, I need to hear you say it.”

“I …” Stiles rubbed at his forehead, his stupid headache coming back. “I can’t.”

Derek carefully placed a hand over Stiles’ arm like he was worried Stiles would push him away. Black lines traveling up his skin as soon as they touched.

“How much pain is he in?” Stiles’ dad asked, looking at Stiles as if he wasn’t all there.

Stiles didn’t care. Derek’s wolfy-mojo was working double time. He knew the pain was still there, because the black lines didn’t stop tracing up Derek’s arm, but all he felt was a numb sensation, starting behind his eyes and traveling outwards. It was bliss. Stiles sighed into it and leant closer to Derek.

“Be careful,” Derek told Stiles’ dad. “I’m taking it before he feels it, but the fae’ magic is still going to affect him.”

“Der?” Stiles said. “I want to go home. I don’t like it here.”

Derek brushed Stiles’ hair back gently, his touch warm and comforting. “Soon,” he agreed. “As soon as we can.”

That was better, Derek was on his side. “Okay,” Stiles agreed.

“Did you kill Stefanie Meahn?” his dad asked again.

Stiles grunted as the headache broke through. “Dad, stop,” he whined. “I can’t …” He meant to say he couldn’t think.

“You can’t answer?” his dad assumed. “Derek, how bad?”

“It’s growing, he’s feeling it now.”

“We have to keep going. Yes or no, kiddo. Did you do it?”

Stiles let out a noise of pain-filled annoyance, his glamor dropping without him thinking about it. Free from the confines of the glamor, he immediately felt liberated. The headache stopped and anger bloomed bright in his chest. Snatching his arm away from Derek, he hissed at his dad. 

“Answer me, Stiles,” his dad commanded. “I will have the truth from you.”

Huffing out a laugh at his dad’s presumptuousness, Stiles went to get off the bed, only for Derek to grab him and hold him tightly by the arms. 

“Let go,” Stiles told him.

“I can’t, not yet,” Derek said, looking torn. “Answer your dad.” Derek pushed Stiles’ arms to his sides, leaning into him and forcing him down onto the bed. “Answer him or you’ll have to stay here, and I’ll make you.”

“What?” Stiles gasped, going still under Derek and looking up at him. 

“You heard me,” Derek replied, nothing but a hard determination coming from him when Stiles checked through their claim. 

“Betrayer,” Stiles stated, and started to struggle for real. 

He managed to whack Derek’s chin with the top of his head before Derek used his full weight to crush him against the mattress. Stiles was still weak and his strength was no match for a determined werewolf. He pulled and twisted but found he had to stop, breathing heavily. Staring up at Derek, he then turned his head away in defeat.

“Please tell me, Stiles,” his dad insisted. “You need to tell me.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, closing his eyes. “So you can arrest me? Hold me in your iron cages? Maybe Deaton can examine me as I die from the poison, he did miss out the first time.” 

“No! So I can protect you! So I know what I’m dealing with! I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what you’ve done!”

Looking back at his dad, Stiles started laughing. “Oh, you’re good,” he complimented. “How many people have confessed, thinking you’re on their side?”

“I am on your side, dammit!” his dad slapped his hand down on his knee. “You’re not well, Stiles. These things you’ve done, they’re not you. I know this! Every time you fight me, fight Derek, fight your friends, I know it’s not you!”

“It’s more me than you will ever know,” Stiles told him. “Maybe you’ll understand if I give you what you want. Yes. I stabbed Stefanie in the neck. I pulled her life from her while her heart was still beating and it was the best feeling in the world.”

Derek stopped breathing above him. His dad went pale. 

And Stiles smiled. “Understand now?” he said mockingly. “Do you finally get it?”

Swallowing, his dad nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it, believe me.”

“Good,” Stiles said, pleased. At the pained and heartbroken expression on his dad’s face, he started to laugh. He laughed and laughed.

“This isn’t working,” his dad said to Derek. “Deaton!”

The door opened and Deaton rushed into the room, Scott on his heals. Stiles knew then he’d been tricked. They’d fooled him. 

His magic whipped up around him and Stiles pushed it out, forcing it against the pixie powder circle and crystals, vying to get to Deaton. He thought for a second he’d gotten through, but his magic just slithered off the barrier again. Stiles readied himself for another burst.

“Now, Scott!” Deaton yelled. 

Scott jumped into the circle and pressed something against Stiles that burned.

Stiles yelled and thrashed under Derek, trying to dislodge Scott’s hand. He redirected his magic and shoved hard. But instead of Scott flying back from the force of it, Stiles felt a pressure against his mind, trying to get in. He pushed again and the force doubled.

“Hold it there, Scott,” Deaton ordered, coming closer. “I’ve got it now.” His hands were outstretched in a strange position, aimed right at Stiles. Fingers crooked, a strained expression grew on his face. 

Stiles hissed at him weakly, the pressure on his mind building. It didn’t hurt, but it was frightening because it reminded him of when the Nogitsune tried to force him to let it in his mind.

“His heart’s beating too fast,” Scott exclaimed.

Stiles’ dad came over to the cot and grabbed hold of Stiles’ shoulder. “Breathe, son, breathe!” he ordered, and Stiles let go of the breath he’d been unconsciously holding onto, expelling it in a huge whoosh of air.

“The fae’s hold is too strong,” Deaton announced. “I can’t break it, even with Stiles’ own magic helping. I’m sorry, I have to let it go.”

“Do it!” Stiles’ dad ordered.

“Scott, now!” Deaton called out, stepping back out of the circle.

Scott removed his hand and the burning on Stiles’ skin stopped. Deaton dropped his hands and the force left Stiles’ mind. He shuddered in relief.

When it became apparent he wasn’t going anywhere, Derek let up on his grip. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Stiles croaked. He couldn’t stay mad at Derek, his poor wolf looked so upset. It wasn’t his fault he’d believed the lies of the others. “Now take me home.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles, you can’t leave,” Deaton told him. “You’re still under the influence of the fae, and by your own admission are doing things we can’t allow you to do.”

Stiles’ anger mixed with such loathing for the druid that he couldn’t speak for a moment. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he stated bluntly when he could find the words.

Deaton lowered his head, looking troubled, but saying nothing.

Scott, on the other hand, had to open his mouth. “Stiles, no, don’t be like that, we were —” 

When Stiles turned his gaze on him, Scott stopped talking.

“I’m tired,” Stiles stated. “I’m going to go now.” Standing up slowly, he walked a few steps, toes coming to rest at the edge of the pixie powder circle. He looked at Deaton expectantly.

“No.” His dad stood in front of him. “You’re not going. You keep saying no one listens to you, but you do the same thing. So listen to me. I am not letting you kill anyone else under the orders of that fae. It's not happening.”

Stiles gave a condescending snort. “The fae didn’t tell me to kill Stefanie,” he said witheringly. “I did that one on my own.” He gave a sly smile. “Can’t say the fae didn’t help me with the others, though.”

“There are others?” his dad asked. He looked so shocked as he stared at Stiles, then he became all business-like, Sheriff to the core. “Don’t undo this circle, no matter what,” he told Deaton. “You’re to keep him safe until we work this out.”

“Of course,” Deaton agreed. 

Stiles hissed in anger. “You’ll regret getting in my way,” he warned, as his dad turned to leave the room.

“I regret not getting in your way sooner,” his dad replied, not looking back.

Turning to Derek, Stiles tried a different way. “Help me,” he pleaded.

Derek shook his head but otherwise didn’t move from the trundle where he sat. “I am helping you.”

Stiles bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Poor Derek, they’d done a good number on him.

Moving quietly around the circle, Deaton and Scott replaced a cracked crystal and added more powder. The druid magic strengthened, caging Stiles in further. He had nothing but dark looks for the both of them once they were finished.

Deaton said nothing to either Derek or Stiles before he left the room. Scott, however, hovered for a bit, obviously wanting to impart some more of his True-alpha wisdom. But he surprised Stiles and said nothing, only closing the door behind himself.

***

“What are you doing?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked down from where he was standing on top of the trundle. His hand was stretched up as high as he could reach. “Recon,” he answered. Carefully, he stepped around where Derek was lying, hand still in the air. Hopping off the trundle, he followed an invisible wall, all the way down to the floor where it met the druid circle. It was a complete half dome, he figured. A long upside down bowl, trapping him like a bug. 

Wondering why he hadn’t done it before, Stiles tried to toe the powder creating the circle. Unsurprisingly, he was unable to touch it; its own properties and druid magic keeping him from getting too close. Kneeling down, he blew on the powder but it remained stubbornly in place. 

“Up, up, up,” Stiles urged Derek, pulling at the bed sheet underneath his wolf’s sprawled form.

Derek lifted his hips, allowing the sheet to slide out. “What now?” He didn’t make a move to stop Stiles, merely watched him with curiosity.

“Personal interaction is out,” Stiles explained. “Perhaps indirect action will work.” He sounded like he knew what he was talking about but really he was just guessing. He wished he’d studied druid magic more than just the brief perusal he’d done. Fae magic was so much more instinctual than this.

He threw the bed sheet in the direction of the magic circle. The material flared out, then landed over the powder. “Yes!”

Stiles pulled the sheet back towards himself. The powder remained in the circle, undisturbed. He groaned and flung the sheet back on the bed. 

It landed on Derek, who snorted and pulled the sheet off his head. “Didn’t work?” he asked mildly.

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, tapping his fingers on one thigh as he continued to think. He’d tried magic force, he’d tried physical. What was he missing? The tapping of his fingers changed to him tapping his foot. He looked down. The floor was wooden boards, the dead wood smoothed with lacquer. Kneeling, Stiles tapped on a board.

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked, sitting up.

“Help me find something to pry the floor up with,” Stiles asked, looking around the dark room.

“I’m not helping you destroy Deaton’s home, Stiles.”

Shooting Derek another unimpressed look, Stiles surveyed the things he was able to reach within the circle. Nothing that would help. “I want to see if the magic circle is creating a sphere. Well, not really a sphere. If it was, I wouldn’t be able to stand up straight where the circle is drawn, so I guess we’re looking at more of an oblate.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Stiles gave the trundle bed a considered once over. “If it’s not an oblate and I can get under it, I can get out.” He walked over to Derek. “Hop up, I think I can use the bed frame to pry up the boards.”

“No,” Derek said, clasping Stiles’ hand. “You need to stop. You can’t rip up the floor to escape. Please, you need to stay here.”

“And do what? Allow Deaton to try more of his remedies on me?” Stiles took his hand back. “I love you, Der, and normally I’d trust your judgement, but when you were held by hunters didn’t you try to escape?”

“It’s not the same thing,” Derek answered.

“Really? Did the hunters hurt you, refuse to let you go? Did they want to learn how you tick in order to take you apart? Did they make you feel like they were going to kill you?”

Derek looked away. “Deaton doesn’t want to kill you.”

“Argent does,” Stiles pointed out. “And don’t think Deaton’s any different. He just hides his intent behind glib words.” He looked back at the circle then at Derek, realizing something important. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Stiles repeated. “For that matter, why wasn’t Scott?” 

Derek sighed. “Stiles, I have no idea what you’re taking about.” 

Stiles waved a hand. “Think about it. When Brine’s goons used the powder on you both, you fell asleep, unconscious, whatever, but you’re not now. Why aren’t you?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, maybe Deaton did something to the powder that made it stop working?” Derek patted the bed. “Why don’t you just come and sit down?”

“But it is working,” Stiles mumbled, turning from Derek to squat next to the circle once more. “It’s working on me just fine. But not you.” He gave Derek a considered look. “You can get out.”

Derek shrugged. “I’m staying with you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Not what I meant. Scott came in and out of the circle like it wasn’t there. Could you break it?”

“I’m not breaking it,” Derek refused.

“Didn’t think you would,” Stiles agreed. But an idea was forming.

***

“This is so boring!” Stiles complained. 

Derek didn’t answer, just patted him on the arm where they lay side by side on the trundle.

“I’m hungry!”

“Eat the apple Scott brought you.”

Stiles humphed and thought of the apple Scott had tossed to Derek on his last visit. “No,” he said, declining.

“So you’re not hungry then,” Derek pointed out.

Stiles pinched him on the arm.

“Ow,” Derek said, unhurt.

A few minutes of silence went past, Stiles rocking his foot back and forth. “I’m bored,” he whined again.

Derek turned and leaned into him. “We could do something about that,” he suggested.

“I’m not getting jiggy with it while I’m a prisoner, Derek!”

Derek lay back on the bed. “Your loss.”

“Is anyone here in the house with us?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged.

Stiles poked him. “Derek, is anyone here?”

“No one but us chickens,” Derek replied, putting an arm up behind his head and affecting an entirely too comfortable pose for Stiles’ liking.

“Derek!” Stiles complained. “Just tell me already!”

“Deaton’s at the clinic. Scott’s here.”

Stiles hummed, trying not to show anticipation incase Derek smelt it on him. “I’m thirsty,” he declared. “Scott, I’m thirsty!” he called out.

Silence met his demand.

Listening for a bit, Derek snorted. “Scott says he’s busy and you’ll just have to wait.”

“He said something else, didn’t he?” Stiles guessed, looking at Derek’s quirk of a smile.

Derek looked back at him with badly concealed amusement.

Eyes narrowing, Stiles lay back on the trundle and got comfortable. “Do you know what Scott’s favorite song is?” he asked. Before Derek could answer, Stiles started singing. Loudly. “I’m Henry the Eighth, I am! Henry the Eighth, I am, I am, I got married to the widow next door, she’s been married seven times before, and every one was a Hen-ery, wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam, I’m her eighth old man, I’m Hen-ery, Henry the Eighth, I am, I am. Henry the Eighth, I am!”

Before he could start into a repeated verse, the door opened. 

“Shut up, Stiles!” Scott ordered, coming in with a glass of water. He looked pained. “God, shut up!”

Grinning, Stiles hoped off the bed. “But you love it,” he teased, standing just back from the circle’s edge.

Scott gave him a disgusted look. “Not since you kept me up all night with it when we were twelve!” Sighing, he held out the water for Stiles to take. “Seriously, your singing sounds like a bird dying.”

“Aw, you say the nicest things,” Stiles answered, reaching out to take the glass. 

His anticipation must have been too much for him to hide because Derek jumped up, calling out, “Scott, no!” His warning came too late. 

Stiles grabbed Scott’s wrist and pulled him close, dragging him across the line. Scott’s foot scraped up the powder. 

As the magic dispersed, Stiles started laughing. “Simple, yet effective,” he stated, eyes glowing with glee. Walking backwards out of the circle, he smirked at Scott and Derek. “I give you fair warning,” he told Scott. “Come at me, try to stop me, and you will regret it.” With an apologetic look, he said to Derek, “Sorry for leaving you here, but you’ll be okay. See you later.”

Their shock wearing off, both Scott and Derek started to move. Stiles took his chance and ran through the door, down the hallway. As it was nighttime, the only place he could go using his magic was the Nemeton. Good thing that’s exactly where he wanted to be. Before he reached the front door, he leapt away, leaving Derek calling out behind him.

Arriving at the grove, Stiles could feel the earth beneath his feet, the trees whispering to each other, the wind on his skin and the moonlight begging for his attention. He bent over with laughter as relief swept over him.

“Dear heart!” the fae exclaimed, appearing beside him and wrapping Stiles up in its hard embrace. “We couldn’t find you. Once again you were hidden from us.” Its expression grew dark. “Explain what has transpired.”

“Argent and Deaton,” Stiles answered. He fingered his wrecked shirt, the dried blood on it evidence as to what they’d done.

The fae touched the material, its lip curling in a silent snarl. “The Summation will be upon us tomorrow night. When the moon rises, our reparation shall be had from those who wronged us.”

“That won’t stop these guys,” Stiles pointed out. “Argent’s supposed to stay away from me but he won’t let a restraining order hold him back for long.”

“And the druid, what does he want?”

Stiles shrugged. “Who knows with Deaton. He’s so full of hidden things he’s hard to read, even when he’s being truthful. But I know he won’t stop, it’s not in his nature.”

“Neither is it in ours,” the fae promised, running a finger down the side of Stiles’ face. “Let us take steps to eliminate your worry.”

“How exactly are we going to do that?” 

The fae’s teeth were sharp in its smile. “By eliminating the threat.”

***

The clinic was closed for business when they got there but Stiles saw Deaton’s car and one other out front and nodded to the fae. “Looks like he has company.”

The fae eyed the wards around the building. “Such puny attempts at protection,” it dismissed. “Shall we break them?”

“Leave them for now, we can still get in. Besides, I don’t know who’s there with him,” advised Stiles. “Better not go flinging around magic until we do.”

“They would be no match for us,” the fae said scornfully.

“Maybe,” Stiles conceded. “But what if they’re the druids we summoned?”

“Than we will have them.”

“Okay, tempting, and we will if it’s them. But if it’s someone else who doesn’t know about magic and Deaton reacts to his wards being broken, we don’t need them panicking and maybe phoning an ambulance or something equally dumb. Let’s just do this my way, okay?”

The fae frowned, looking at Stiles silently for a long moment. Then it dipped its head. “We defer to your lead.”

Wrapping himself in illusions, Stiles walked up to the front door. Trying the handle, he found it locked.

“Why do you falter?” The fae gave the door a casual glance.

“I don’t want to break in and make too much noise.”

“Then do not break it,” the fae replied.

Trying to keep his sarcasm in check, Stiles explained, “It may be a bit hard to get in otherwise.”

Giving him a look, the fae lay a finger on the door lock. Stiles heard a soft click and when he turned the handle, the door opened silently. The fae swept past him into the clinic, head tilting as it took in its surroundings. “We can feel animals nearby,” it stated, as Stiles joined it. “Pained ones.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, lifting the front desk’s barrier and stepping through. “But that’s not a surprise is it? You know of animal clinics, don’t pretend you don’t.” 

The fae hummed its reply, following him down the hallway. As they got closer to the examination room, Stiles heard Deaton talking to someone.

“I don’t have the information you seek.”

“But I’m sure you do,” Ramona replied, causing Stiles to stop where he was. “Your lack of assistance is annoying. Just give me what I want.” There was a clicking noise as if Ramona was walking around the room, the heals of her shoes marking her progress. 

The fae pushed Stiles in the back and he remembered he couldn’t be seen or heard. Entering the room, he found Ramona and Deaton to be the only ones there.

Ramona stopped her pacing and gave Deaton a considered look. “You’re a druid and from what Gavin told me, the druids of this area are no friend to the fae. Why that is, I’m not entirely sure of, not yet. The point is, we both know you have what I need. And please, let’s just skip the part where you tell me you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Pausing for a beat, Deaton answered in his usual stoic manner. “You knowing who I am doesn’t change anything. I still don’t have what you want.”

“No? That’s a shame.” Ramona sighed. “Perhaps a bit of incentive then?” She took her hand out of her jacket pocket and held up a slender pipe, the length of her forearm. The shiny metal glinted.

“You’d threaten the lives of the animals under my care for information I don’t possess?” Deaton asked, obviously knowing what Ramona held.

“Yes,” Ramona admitted with no shame. “Because what I’m trying to achieve is far greater than a few animals.”

Deaton glared at her. “It’s not the first time I’ve been threatened with arson,” he announced. “But my duty of care and my general empathy would have me ask that you don’t set fire to my business. Not to mention the financial burden you would place on me if you did so.”

They stared at each other for a few heated moments, Stiles wondering if Deaton was actually concerned, considering the building’s wards, or just playing for time.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Ramona said finally and dropped her hand, the pipe resting against her thigh. “How could you not?”

Deaton gave a slight shrug. “I don’t hold all the secrets of this town. Far from it.”

“But you know the Nemeton,” she persisted. “You should know how to find it!”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in scorn, his lip following. As they’d surmised, Ramona was making a play for the Tree, just as Brine had. It was the same old story with a different player.

“No, I do not, as I have already told you,” Deaton replied. “I’d appreciate you leaving now.”

Ramona frowned. “This has been a very disappointing venture.”

“I can only imagine,” Deaton said dryly.

Looking around for the fae, Stiles only then noticed it was not with him. Somewhat curious as to what it was doing, he made a split-second decision and dropped his illusions. “If you want to go to the Nemeton, you should have just asked,” he announced to the room. “I’ll take you.”

Both Deaton and Ramona did a double-take, Ramona the first to speak. “Stiles. What a curious coincidence that you’re here.” She gave Deaton a considered look as if he’d had something to do with it.

“Not really,” Stiles disagreed. “This is just good timing on my part.” He leant against the doorframe and folded his arms before looking them over slowly. “Now the question is, how to proceed. I suppose I could just knock you out but that seems to lack flair. I could incapacitate you and leave you awake. That one has the most appeal as you’ve both done the same thing to me. But I don’t know.” Stiles hummed as if contemplating his choices. “What do you guys think? Any preferences?”

“What are you talking about?” Ramona demanded.

Stiles gave her a look full of condescending pity. “Did I speak too fast? I thought it was obvious. I’m here to enact payback on Deaton. Now I get you as well.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ramona scoffed. “You think you can take me? Stiles, I hate to break it to you, but you’re no threat.”

“That’s not what you’ve been telling everyone,” Stiles said, not caring that she dismissed him. It was something everyone did sooner or later. “I’m the one who’d rip the flesh from your bones, remember?” 

“I’m certain other fae would. But you?” Ramona chuckled derisively. “You’ve proven to be so easy to take down, I don’t even have to expend energy on it.”

“And yet, I’m still here,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yes,” Ramona conceded. “Because I chose it to be so. I still have much to learn from you, tiny fish that you are. But the big fry in this town is the Nemeton, and you’ve just said you’ll take me to it.”

“So I did,” Stiles agreed, trying not to show how much he wanted to laugh. Ramona was repeating Brine’s mistake and it couldn’t have been more hilarious. “Well, then. What are we waiting for?”

“Stiles,” Deaton spoke up. “I don’t think your dad will like whatever you’re planning.”

“But he’s not here to have a say in it, is he?” Stiles shot back, all his amusement falling away. “And your Jiminy Cricket impersonation won’t work, so shut up. I have no interest in anything you have to say.”

“You need to rethink your actions. Your current course will not end well.”

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Stiles sighed in annoyance. “Neither of you have a choice in this.” With a single thought, he swept out an arc of magic, planning to encircle and bind them both. 

It was simple magic but things didn’t eventuate the way he thought it would. Instead of Deaton and Ramona becoming stiff like boards, Stiles’ magic blew around them and sparked off into the walls of the room, shearing off part of the building’s wards and leaving a magical gap which stretched up into the ceiling. Deaton flinched at the attack, eyes tracking the damage to his wards, but Stiles was more interested in the barrier he could now see floating around the druid in a slow haze invisible to the human eye. Ramona was standing within its shield, unaware magic was being performed in her presence. The barrier held a very familiar feeling to it. One that made Stiles see red.

Narrowing his eyes, he hissed and advanced on Deaton. “Where is it?” he snarled. “Where’s your damn crystal?”

Deaton stepped back. “Seeing as it’s keeping me safe, I’m not telling you.”

Ramona eyed their exchange with surprise, affecting a smirk which she leveled at Stiles. “Just tried some magic, did you? Poor baby fae, didn’t it work?”

“Don’t pretend you know anything about it,” Stiles snarked at her. “It just highlights your limited intelligence.” He’d been waiting to shove that kind of comment at her. Someone so invested in knowing things wouldn’t take too kindly to being ignorant.

As he’d suspected, Ramona’s eyes narrowed and her smirk thinned. But she rallied quickly, replying, “I know more than you think. Such as, however unintentional, I’m reaping the benefits here and that’s lovely.” She moved closer to the door as if intending to leave. Stiles watched her get closer to the barrier’s edge.

“Not that I want you here,” Deaton warned, “but if you leave, my ‘unintentional’ protection will cease working for you.”

Ramona threw up her hands, stopping just inside the barrier. “Then just give me whatever it is you’re using and I’ll be on my way! You two can continue your pathetic magic showdown without me.”

“That won’t be happening,” Deaton refuted.

At the same time, Stiles chuckled, hoping to provoke Ramona into doing something stupid. “Aww, scared of a little magic? Can’t you keep up with the big boys, Rammy?”

Eyes sparking, Ramona bit out, “I don’t need magic to get what I want. I use more normal means.”

“Sure you do,” Stiles taunted. “Only someone who couldn’t do magic themselves would say something like that.”

“Where’s magic getting you at the moment, hmm?” Ramona shot back. “Nowhere.”

“You make a good point,” Stiles conceded. “Guess I’ll use more 'normal means'.” He rushed at her. 

Throwing up her hands in instinctual defense, the pipe still in her grasp, Ramona stepped backwards. By moving just that little bit, she passed the barrier and Stiles took full advantage, pushing her hard. Falling backwards, Ramona hit her head on the floor. As if a pause button had been pushed, she stilled, blinking up at the ceiling slowly, stunned. 

Stiles sneered as he looked down at her. “Too easy,” he stated, and turned towards Deaton. “Your turn.” It wouldn’t be as easy to take out the druid, but he’d think of something.

“Stiles!” Deaton cried out, pointing behind him. “Watch out!”

Whirling back around, only his fae agility stopped Stiles from getting a face full of fire as Ramona groggily leveled her silver pipe at him. He twisted out of the way, the fire shooting out of the pipe, clearing the small space between them and hitting the wall with a rush of heat that made the hairs on Stiles’ arms rise up. The bricks ignited instantly, no longer protected by Deaton’s wards.

Stiles stared transfixed, somewhat shocked that the clinic was on fire. “What the hell is that?!” he exclaimed, directing the question at Deaton while pointing at Ramona’s pipe. “A flame thrower??”

“Magic!” Deaton yelled over the growing growl of the flames, calling out the lie Ramona had told.

“Great, what else does she have? A mini black hole?!” Stiles yelled back, hunkering down as Ramona turned the pipe on him again. Her aim was way off and skewered up to the ceiling, setting the panels on fire. 

The flames were hypnotic with the way they spread out in a bloom. Stiles could feel the energy beyond that of the heat, a growling living thing taking root before him, calling and urging him to meet it with his magic and see what kind of dance they could do. The roar of the flames fell away into the background and Stiles went to stand up, reaching out with a hand, wanting to touch.

“Stiles!” Deaton yelled in his ear, yanking him back down to the floor, the fire’s noise coming back in a loud rush. “Here!” A black crystal in two pieces was shoved into Stiles’ hand. “Save the animals!” Deaton coughed, covering his lower face with his arm. “Please!”

Without thinking twice about it and somewhat vindictively, Stiles crushed the crystal pieces in his hand even though Deaton had already disrupted the barrier by snapping the crystal in two. Stiles then wrapped his arm around Deaton and helped him stumble out of the examination room, ducking under the ceiling fire that showered them with hot sparks of debris. In less than a minute, though it felt like longer, they were both outside breathing fresh air and in Deaton’s case, hacking up a lung onto the gravel of the parking lot.

About to go back inside for the animals, unable to think of them frying, Stiles was brought up short by a firm touch on his elbow. 

“You have procured the druid,” the fae said mildly. “We shall go.”

There was a small explosion as the glass from the examination room windows blew out, making Stiles flinch. As he watched, the side of the building was quickly covered in smoke, flames following suit and licking up the brickwork to the roof.

“Where were you?” Stiles yelled over the noise, unable to go anywhere with the fae holding onto him.

The fae shrugged. “We were liberating the animals. You had things well in hand and did not require our assistance.” Its voice wasn’t any louder than normal but cut through the roar of the fire easily.

“Liberating …” Stiles repeated. “You saved the animals?”

The fae looked towards the clinic. “It was our course of action from the moment we stepped into such a place. We do not tolerate human barbarity.” It cocked its head, the fire reflecting in its eyes making them glow with an eery brightness. “It seems it was fortuitous we did so.”

Stiles stared at the fae, blinking soot out of his own eyes. “The clinic is a place to help animals,” he said somewhat stupidly.

The fae ignored him. “Come, let us leave,” it said once more, bending down to touch Deaton on the forehead.

Deaton had been looking up at the fae with wide eyes but at its touch he fell asleep, listing onto his front, face in the gravel.

“Where is the other one?” the fae asked.

Remembering Ramona, Stiles looked towards the clinic where the flames were now shooting towards the sky, a roaring bonfire of light and color, smoke twisting high. “In there,” he answered, a snigger breaking out as he thought about what that meant. But disbelief followed quickly as he wasn’t that lucky. Ramona had probably escaped out the back. “Damn it, I need to find her.”

There was another loud whooshing of flame and part of the clinic roof collapsed inwards with a bang.

The fae still had hold of Stiles’ arm. “If she lives, there will be other moments available to you.”

“Not like this one,” Stiles said, getting ready to argue his point. Then he looked around.

From one second to the next, they’d gone from the clinic to the redwoods, Deaton lying in the snow at their feet.

Stiles shook himself out of the fae’s hold. “Really?!” he shouted. “I was so close to having both of them! Why’d you do that?”

“Hush, dear heart,” the fae admonished. “Come, we will prepare for the Summation.” It flicked its hand at Deaton. 

A rush of wind formed around the druid’s prone body, lifting him into the air. As the fae skittered up the nearest redwood, Deaton followed along with arms and legs hanging limply as the wind pushed him ever higher. The wind grew in strength, buffeting Stiles where he stood. Holding up a hand to keep his hair out of his eyes, Stiles watched as the fae and Deaton ascended out of sight into the night-black branches of the tree.

Sitting in the canopy, the fae waited for Stiles to climb up beside it. With another flick of a hand, Deaton was transferred, none too gently, into the branches. The limbs of the redwood were close together and he became wedged between them in an ungainly sprawl. 

Handing Stiles a cable tie like the one they’d used on Bonnie, the fae motioned for him to tie Deaton up. 

Still fuming inside, Stiles stayed quiet, leaning in and beginning to twist the cable around a branch. Up close, he looked at Deaton’s lax face and his ire grew ugly and pointed. The void stirred in his chest, wanting to rip and tear at the soul before him. Stiles wanted to end Deaton and feel again the bliss that came with taking a life into himself. But he’d only feel good for the few moments before Deaton’s life would begin to weigh on him, bearing down until he forced Deaton’s soul into the Tree.

Forgoing all that, Stiles could just fling Deaton out from the tree canopy, let him fall all the way down to the ground, turn his brain into so much putty as his skull split from the force of impact. Even the snow wouldn’t save him from this hight.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the fae said quietly. “Continue.”

Stiles looked at the fae, warring with indecision. “I know he’s one of them but what if we made an exception and just got rid of him now? Surely it wouldn’t be that big a deal.”

“What do you wish to do?” the fae asked.

Looking at Deaton, Stiles scowled. “I hate him,” he declared. “I want him out of my life.” 

The fae blinked its wide slanted eyes and waited.

“But the use of him in the Summation would be more beneficial.” Stiles sighed. “Fine, we’ll leave him here for tomorrow night. It’s not that long, I guess.” 

Smiling lightly, the fae nodded in approval.

Trailing the cable tie, Stiles threaded himself through the redwood’s branches, sliding around the trunk and pulling the tie over Deaton’s shoulders, making sure it was tight enough to cut into skin. He gave the fae a curious glance as he clipped the cable in place. “Why’d you make me carry Bonnie up the tree when you could have just lifted her up here?” He made a whooshing motion with one hand to indicate the wind going up the tree.

“We like to see how you achieve your goals,” the fae replied. “When you choose to use magic and when you don’t. We find you still do not utilize your abilities as much as we would like, but it will come in time.”

“It was another test?” Stiles asked, then looked up into the night sky in slight exasperation. “Of course it was. Wait. Are you telling me I can do that wind thing?”

One harsh eyebrow lifted sardonically on the fae’s face. “Do you not recall doing just such a thing?”

Stiles rubbed a finger on his temple. “I’d remember using wind like that, I’m sure of it.”

The fae continued to look at him.

“I have, haven’t I?” Stiles sunk back against the branch he was leaning on. “And I’ve forgotten.” 

“We witnessed your foray into a storm,” the fae informed him. 

A vague memory surfaced in Stiles’ mind. “There was a man in the storm. Wasn’t there?” He tried not to get too upset at being unable to recall anything else. “What happened?”

Tipping its head, the fae smiled with sharp teeth. “A human died. It was impressive.”

Stiles closed his eyes, frowning in concentration, but gave up after a while, shaking his head. “I can’t remember.”

“Do not worry overly much,” the fae said mildly. “The Summation will be our renewal.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles agreed, shoving his worry away. “So, what’s next?”

“Do you see them?” The fae pointed out from the redwood at the other tree tops around them. 

Stiles used fae sight and peered through the night, catching glimpses of numerous shapes hung up in the branches. “Are they all druids?” 

“Every one,” the fae replied. “Your calling has achieved what was required. Our human has been busy getting them ready.”

“You mean Hans. Are you really going to change him when it’s all done?” Stiles asked.

The fae laughed, its head thrown back in a gesture reminiscent of childish glee. “We never agreed. Our human hears what he wants to hear.”

Stiles smirked. “Thought so.”

They shared a conspiratorial glance, both amused.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm Henry the Eighth I am' - by Herman's Hermits.  
> Truly, a very annoying song and therefor one to teach younger family members who are not your own. I can see Stiles using this after watching the movie 'Ghost' with Scott. 
> 
> "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens" - Loius Jordan.  
> Derek's caught the quoting bug well and good now.


	18. The Summation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything lines up, but also … doesn’t.

It was still night when Stiles eyed the back of Derek’s cabin. He wasn’t able to sense anyone in the vicinity except Derek, who was puttering around inside, but he was being cautious, not wanting to get caught again. Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he finally walked up the back steps, unsurprised when the door opened and Derek came out onto the porch. 

Scooping Stiles into his arms, Derek held him tightly and breathed him in, stubble scratching along Stiles’ neck. There was a fair amount of relief flowing through their bond and Stiles felt bad for causing Derek more stress. Tilting his head, he gave Derek access to his claim mark and Derek squeezed him tighter, raising him up on his toes. Stiles felt, rather than heard, the whimper his wolf tried to hold in, and he rubbed his hands up and down Derek’s tense back. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.”

Teeth bit into his neck and Stiles gasped and shivered as the claim mark sang under the attention. He sent back calm-strength-love, murmuring soothing noises as Derek walked him backwards into the cabin’s log wall, pressing into him and shoving his thigh in between Stiles’ legs and rocking up.

Stiles breathed out quietly. Derek was a thick wedge of heat pressing against him. To help, Stiles propped his foot up on the wall behind him, angling his leg for Derek to rock against.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned out, sounding broken and not in a good way.

“Shhh, my wolf, it’s okay,” Stiles repeated, getting the tips of his fingers under the edge of Derek’s jeans and stroking the skin soothingly.

Derek kept pushing, shoving Stiles into the wall like he wanted them to merge with it. His desperation was peaking with no contentment flowing through, just ugly anxiety, so Stiles cupped Derek’s head in his hands and managed to get Derek to look at him. When he had his wolf’s attention, he pushed on their claim, wrapping Derek in as much love as he could. 

Derek sighed and closed his eyes.

Tilting his head, Stiles placed his mouth on Derek’s neck, right on his wolf’s claiming scar. Derek shivered violently and Stiles sucked, bringing the puckered skin into his mouth and biting gently with blunt teeth before running his tongue over the scar to sooth it.

In a surprise move, Derek pushed Stiles down onto the porch boards, ripping his t-shirt clean through the middle with clawed hands, leaving Stiles blinking up at him with wide eyes and exposed chest.

“Woah, Der,” Stiles breathed out, feeling the change in Derek’s emotions as the lust won through. “Okay, keep going,” he urged, wanting Derek to know he was good with whatever, however, just so long as Derek wanted it too.

“I love you,” Derek told him, the truth of it sliding through their claim. 

Moaning, Stiles lifted his hips for Derek to pull his jeans off, but Derek shook his head, a quirky smile developing as he looked Stiles over. Stiles tried not to preen, but it was hard not to when the satisfaction Derek was getting from looking at him held a deep-seated smugness to it.

“Do something,” Stiles whined, his dick beginning to feel too confined. “Anything, Der, come on!”

Derek’s smirk grew. “Anything?” 

Before Stiles could reply, he was dragged by his feet across the boards to the porch steps, a squeak startled out of him by the unexpectedness of it. Without a pause, Derek flipped him over, pulling his jeans down to just above his knees. Then Derek stopped.

“Der?” Stiles asked, feeling exposed but trusting of his wolf.

“Shhh,” Derek said, laughing gently. He stroked a hand down Stiles’ back and flicked a claw onto his ass.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed, not minding but feeling like he had to participate somehow. When Derek urged him to slide down the steps, not an easy thing with his dick in such a position, he complied but mumbled, “Come on, Derek, mind the goods.” 

He got into position, kneeling on the steps facing towards the door. The way he must look caused a spike of arousal to hit and Derek laughed again, making a show of breathing in deep behind Stiles. 

“You smell so good, so ready for me,” he said, the wanting in his voice making Stiles’ dick jump.

“God, Derek, hurry up!”

Derek laughed once more and Stiles allowed himself a smile, liking how free and happy his wolf sounded. Hands pried Stiles’ ass cheeks open and he tried to help by widening his stance as much as he could with his jeans trapping him. A surprisingly slick-smooth finger rubbed around his ass hole and pressed in without much preamble, forcing a grunt out of him. Three fingers speared in and the burn made Stiles arch into the hand Derek put on his spine.

“I’ve got you,” Derek said, and removed his fingers.

Stiles nodded, breathing heavily and missing the intrusion. He tilted his ass, silently asking.

Derek chuckled once more. “Mine, my fae,” he announced as he lined his dick up.

Stiles moaned, the words making him melt inside. “My wolf,” he replied, thrusting back and trying to force Derek in. He could feel the plastic lubrication of a condom and wondered when Derek had put it on. His wolf could be damn quick when it suited him.

Derek’s dick slipped along his ass crack, up his back, his balls slapping into Stiles’ ass. “Let me,” he ordered, holding Stiles still, and shoving in with one long push. 

Stiles’s breath left him and he scrambled to find something to hold onto as his insides stretched around Derek and held him snug. It was tight and Stiles felt it up his spine into the back of his head, a tingling that didn’t stop. “Fuck!” he cursed, gripping onto the top step. 

Standing behind him, balls deep, Derek laughed again. “Mine, your mine,” he stated, and Stiles felt the deep need he had under the announcement.

“Yours, all yours, my wolf, my Derek,” Stiles agreed. “I love you.”

“Mine,” Derek said again, grunting and sighing as he started to move.

Hoping not to bang his dick on a mistimed thrust, but wanting to melt into the sensations running through them both, Stiles begged Derek to go faster. He complied, sending more shivers up Stiles’ spine and making him yell on a particularly good thrust that hit right where Stiles wanted it most.

Their climaxes were almost simultaneous, both of them coming hard and fast, Stiles sticking up the steps with thick ropes of come. Without preamble, Derek pulled out and stepped back, taking off the condom and tying it closed before doing up his jeans.

With muscles liquified, Stiles wasn’t anywhere near as agile. He curled up on his side before sliding down the steps in an ungainly heap to the forest floor. Squatting, Derek pulled up Stiles’ jeans for him and then lay down, taking Stiles into his arms. It was a good thing Derek routinely cleared the area around the steps of snow, otherwise Stiles doubted Derek would be so relaxed about snuggling on the frozen ground.

They lay there, staring up at the night sky, Stiles rubbing his fingers through the extra fur Derek had grown on his arms during their fucking.

“I’m sorry,” Derek told him when the blood had stopped thumping in Stiles’ head like a steam engine.

“What for? That? Don’t be, I’m all good,” Stiles told him. He had an idea what Derek was talking about and wanted to keep the conversation light. Derek was feeling relaxed and Stiles wanted him to stay like that for a while longer, not drop into wallowing over badly-made decisions.

“I say I’m on your side, then I let Chris stab you and Deaton imprison you,” Derek explained, confirming Stiles’ suspicions. “I’m so sorry.”

Stiles kept stroking Derek’s arm. “You didn’t let Argent do anything. He did it with Scott and Liam’s help, not yours. As for Deaton, he does what he wants and makes it seem like he’s doing it for a good reason. You were confused. None of it was your fault and I don’t blame you for any of it.”

Derek said nothing, staring at the side of Stiles’ face.

Still looking up, Stiles noted the moon was almost at its fullest, light spilling over the sky, the stars bright and sparkling. The scene was like a reflection of how he felt inside. Clear and full of focus.

A hand on his face made him turn. He smiled at Derek and leant in for a kiss that was warm and languid. The worry his wolf had been feeling dissipated and all that was left was Derek’s lovely sigh of contentment that melted into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles rubbed his nose along Derek’s when they broke apart, breathing slowly, his smile soft. “I love you,” he said, taking note of the crinkles of happiness Derek’s eyes wore at the edges.

“I love you, too,” Derek replied. “Is everything okay?”

The question came out of left field, but Stiles nodded. “Everything’s more than okay. The Summation is tomorrow night and everything’s ready. It’s going to be incredible, Der. I wish you could be there for it.” Anticipation bubbled up inside Stiles just at the thought of what was to come.

“Could I be?” Derek asked carefully, his eyes watchful. “Would that be okay?”

Stiles was honestly surprised. “You want to?”

“If I can.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles agreed. “I’d really like that.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated, nodding. “There won’t be any problem with it.” And if there was, he could sweet-talk the fae into it, he was sure.

***

The morning came, Stiles blinking up at the sun and wondering why his back felt like he’d slept on a rock. He sat up and looked behind him, picking up the offending object and tossing it away into the trees with a wry smile. “Getting soft,” he rebuked himself under his breath. It was all those times sleeping in a bed that had done it. After the Summation he’d see about taking Derek into the forest for a while. Just the two of them amongst nature. As it should be.

Only a day to go before retribution against Deaton and all the other druids. The only dampener on the event was Argent wasn’t going to be part of it, getting what he deserved.

“Hey,” Derek called to Stiles, walking down the porch steps, coffee in one hand. “I tried to wake you to come inside last night but you weren’t impressed.”

Stiles gave a sheepish grin but didn’t mention he couldn’t remember that. Maybe he’d just been too sleepy rather than his brain fucking up again. “Sorry,” he said.

Derek shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You were kinda cute, hissing at me while mumbling about moon beams.” He smiled at Stiles, eying him from over his coffee, a definite air of cheekiness floating about him.

“I did not!” Stiles defended, more for show than anything else.

“Did too.” Derek’s humor left him and he eyed Stiles carefully as he said, “I was thinking of just hanging around here today. That is, if you’re up for it?”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, shrugging and leaning back on his hands. “I don’t have anything to do until tonight anyway.” He smiled coyly. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Nothing much,” Derek replied with a smile of his own. “Maybe I’ll repair the window you broke in our bedroom.”

Stiles’ heart skipped at hearing Derek call it their bedroom. They’d never spoken about him moving in but maybe that’s what Derek would like? It made sense to Stiles, after all they were supernaturally married and he spent more time at the cabin then at his dad’s.

“Wait,” Stiles said, catching up on what Derek had said. “I broke a window?”

Derek blinked, lowering his coffee cup. “Your dad said you jumped through it.”

“What?” Stiles stood up, frowning. There was absolutely no memory of that in his mind. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Derek said, picking up on the anxiety spike. “Stiles, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not, Derek. How can not remembering something like that be okay?” Stiles started pacing, fisting his hands through his hair. It was too hard to ignore this time; his memory was most definitely getting worse.

With calm movements, Derek put his coffee on the porch railing and walked down the steps. He waited until Stiles passed by then gently stopped his pacing with both hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “Breathe deep, slow it down.” Derek exaggerated his breathing for Stiles to copy. 

Stiles tried his best, focussing on Derek’s face as he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

“That’s it, keep going,” Derek encouraged.

Eventually, Stiles calmed enough that his breathing and heartbeat slowed to a more normal rate. Tipping his head into Derek’s shoulder, he mumbled, “Thanks.” Then, because he was unable to let it go, he asked, “Can you tell me what happened to the tree?” He pointed to one of the trees out the front of the cabin. It was split like lightning had hit it.

“Do you think we should talk about this now?” Derek asked.

“Maybe not, but I need to know how bad my memory is,” Stiles pointed out. “I won’t have a panic attack,” he promised.

Derek looked over at the tree. “Your dad said there was a storm. You were caught up in it and a man died.”

Stiles recalled the fae telling him that part. “Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding as if he remembered.

“Your dad also said there’s a telluric current running through here and you did some stuff to try to get me out of it.” Derek was watching Stiles carefully.

Stiles squinted as he tried to remember, rubbing at one eye as his headache started again. “A telluric current … that’s familiar. I know you were in one, I remember that bit.” What Stiles didn’t say was just how fuzzy that information was. “Hans made sure you were okay.” That part was clearer.

“I remember what happened while I was asleep,” Derek admitted.

“Really? What?”

Derek frowned, taking in Stiles rubbing at his forehead. “Headache back?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Stiles said, dismissing the concern. “So, what happened?”

Derek was quiet for a moment, bringing up his hand and tracing the side of Stiles’ face, fingers smoothing over skin in a gentle caress. “Nothing much,” he finally said. “Do you feel like going for a run?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said slowly, wondering at the turn in conversation. “Not the preserve though.”

“No?”

“No, we’re going there tonight, so let’s just stay around here, okay?” Stiles didn’t want Derek to get an eyeful of anything before time. Even though the fae had the druids wrapped up in illusions and the grove was shrouded in Stiles’ own magic, it was better not to take chances.

“Okay, we’ll run on our property,” Derek decided, and Stiles’ heart jumped again at the use of the plural.

Derek started taking off his clothes, folding up his shirts and jacket and putting them on the porch steps, Stiles watching appreciatively as each bit of skin was revealed. When naked from the waist up, Derek rubbed at his arms as the cold bit at them. 

“You going wolf?” Stiles asked unnecessarily, not even trying to hide his ogling.

“I think it’s best. I’ll be able to scent and hear things from further away,” Derek replied.

Stiles didn’t need to ask why that was important; Ramona and Argent were still out there. “Let’s go.”

Derek’s phone rang from inside his jacket pocket. Retrieving it, he looked at the screen. “It’s your dad.”

Stiles knew immediately what it was about and wished they’d been quicker to start their run. “Don’t answer it,” he advised. “Just let it ring out.”

“It’s your dad, Stiles,” Derek reproved, tapping the screen and holding it up to his ear.

Stiles wasn’t able to hear what his dad said but was very aware of the concerned look Derek shot his way. Deciding distance may be a good and prudent thing to have, he backed up a few steps. Any accusations would be easier to handle with space between them.

“Okay, I understand. I got it,” Derek said, hanging up.

Stiles took another step backwards. 

“Deaton’s veterinary clinic burnt down last night. What do you know about it?”

Stiles shrugged, seeing no reason to lie. “Ramona set fire to the clinic.”

“Ramona did it?”

“Did you think I did?” Stiles wasn’t annoyed, he’d known how this would go. “Does my dad?”

“It crossed his mind but he wanted to get your side of the story first.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Derek replied, no trace of hesitation in his tone. “Stiles, where’s Deaton?”

“He’s missing?” Stiles asked mildly, knowing he came off entirely too smug but not really caring. His smile turned sly. “Oh, dear.”

Derek gave him an indecipherable look. “Where is he?”

Stiles waved a hand around. “Here. There. Somewhere.”

“Tell me you didn’t kill him, Stiles.”

“Nah, not yet,” Stiles chuckled. “But soon enough.”

Derek took a step towards him, Stiles backing up further. They eyed each other, Derek looking troubled and uncertain. It was not a look Stiles liked to see on his wolf but in this instance he didn’t think Derek could look any other way.

“Don’t worry too much about him, Der,” he advised. “Deaton’s just getting what he deserves.”

Opening his mouth then shutting it again, Derek’s brows furrowed deeply. Finally, he lowered his head and seemed to slump where he stood, reminding Stiles of his dad at his most despondent.

“Hey. Hey, Der, it’s okay,” Stiles coaxed. “Everything’s as it should be. Let’s go for that run, okay?”

Derek’s eyes were still shadowed when he looked back up at Stiles, but he nodded and said, “Okay.” Slipping his jeans over his hips, he put them and his phone on the steps and changed into his wolf shape quicker than Stiles could appreciate his nakedness. His paws were quiet on the snow as he sniffed around before giving a nod that everything was as it should be.

Leading the way through the trees, Stiles jogged at first so they could stay side by side, eventually gaining speed until they were flying over the ground, Derek keeping up with a little more effort on his part, obviously not wanting Stiles to get too far ahead. 

Enjoying himself, Stiles leaped in and out of the sunlight as he ran, making Derek guess where he’d turn up, though he never let Derek loose sight of him for long. The trees whispered to him, branches creaking their secrets; the earth under his feet was deliciously cold and hard; the boulders under his palms when he pushed off them to speed away were solid and dependable with thousands of years held within their structures; and the sunlight was flittering down through the forest canopy, energizing him with its rays. He was filling up with Wintertime; the slow creeping strength of the world under a blanket of snow and ice.

Derek barked, bringing Stiles back to himself just as he was about to sunlight-leap further than before, possibly too far for their game. Stopping and waiting, Stiles grinned a little sheepishly as Derek padded up, giving him a baleful eye. 

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, but he was still too full of the nature around him to be completely chastised.

***

The morning passed quickly as Stiles and Derek did a lap around the edges of Derek’s property, taking in the sugar maples, the deep pines to the west, and then closer in along the river and up to the back of the cabin.

Derek changed back to human form as they went to go in the back door. He’d refused to change while they’d been running and Stiles got the impression it was to stop them from talking to each other. There’d been a distance to their claiming bond, one Derek had put there.

Even though it worried him, Stiles had still enjoyed himself, was unable not to. Everything had been so beautiful and quiet. 

The snow had been crunching under Derek’s paws as they’d run along the top bank of the river, and Stiles had caught sight of a dazzling display of sunbeams that brought him to a standstill. Icicles glinted on the edges of the river back, stuck to the stalky hard grasses that hadn’t died away in the cold and instead solidified into long magic wands, glinting in the sunlight, heavy with their icicle gems. He’d stared, somewhat transfixed, until Derek bumped him in the back of his legs and got him going again, an impatience in the claim that made Stiles hurry on before he was ready to.

Once inside the cabin, Derek took the bundle of clothes he’d picked up from the porch steps down the hallway to the bedroom, shutting the door and leaving Stiles standing in the living room. He was well aware Derek would be phoning his dad. They’d probably talk about Deaton and try to come up with a plan to find him and set him free. Not that it mattered. No one could stop the Summation and Stiles didn’t feel the slightest bit worried about them trying. Both his dad and Derek were under the influence of Deaton and believed they had the right of it. When Deaton was dead they’d see just how wrong they’d been.

Even though Stiles knew the cause of it, Derek’s silent treatment was hard to take and all good feelings about the morning ebbed away. Things would be better after the Summation was over. The Tree would be healed completely, balance would be restored and everything that was wrong would be put right. The fae had said so.

***

As the night got closer, Stiles started to feel decidedly weird. The moon rose, its light spilling into the cabin and Stiles found himself unable to move away from the glow coming through the windows.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asked from where he sat on the sofa, watching Stiles as he stared out the window at the night sky.

“Awesome,” Stiles replied a little dreamily. The moonlight was calling to him and the Summation was now. Stiles could feel the Tree, stretching upwards in the grove, ready to complete its transition from an almost healed stump to fully grown. “Time to go, my wolf,” he said, beckoning with one hand. 

Derek jumped over the sofa and turned Stiles around to face him. “Stiles, snap out of it!”

Feeling ever so light and floaty, Stiles giggled. “Don’t worry, Derek, it’s just an abundance of magic.”

“That’s what worries me,” Derek admitted. “Just, wait a second, let me …” he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone and texting quickly. “Just wait, Stiles,” he asked, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder, as if that would keep Stiles where he was.

So full of moonlight, of Nemeton, was Stiles, that he didn’t even need to think very strongly of being in the clearing before they were actually there, Derek looking around and cursing under his breath. 

Slowly, Stiles reached out a finger and tapped Derek’s phone. A spark travelled from his fingertip and zapped the phone, Derek almost dropping it in surprise.

“Why’d you do that?”

Smiling wide, Stiles shrugged, walking a slight distance away. “You wanted to be here, so be here. No more texting for you, my wolf.” Happily, Stiles dropped his glamor like sloughing off dead skin, and twirled once, loving being himself and not hiding.

The moonlight was even stronger in the clearing, as if it was being funneled downwards into the surrounding trees, ready to be used. More than likely that’s exactly what was happening, the fae probably setting it up for maximum magical effect, but Stiles was too giddy to inspect things in detail. 

He sashayed over to the stump and ran a hand up along its trunk-like growth, able to feel it even while not being in the astral plane, so close was it to being realized as fully grown. With his fae eyes he saw new branches reaching past him into the sky, grabbing the moonlight and seeming to stretch ever higher. Even the roots of the stump seemed to be spreading out, wider and thicker than before. 

Stiles patted the Tree and whispered, “Soon.”

“Oh, God,” Derek said from behind him. “Scott was right.” Eyes glowing supernaturally blue as he gazed at the stump, his head tipped up as he came to stand with Stiles, seeing for the first time just how magnificent the Tree had become.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Stiles preened. “It’s almost completely healed!”

“I can see that,” Derek agreed, sounding not at all as impressed as Stiles thought he should be.

“We’re almost ready!” Stiles tried again, wanting Derek to be just as excited.

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the fae greeted, appearing near them. Its eyes flicked over Derek and dismissed him. “Come, the moon is waiting.”

Stiles laughed, clapping his hands. “They’re here, aren’t they?” He hadn’t wanted to say anything beforehand to Derek, wanting the surprise to be as great as it could be. “Show me!” he demanded joyfully.

The fae was smiling as it waved a hand around the grove; a master showman revealing the next big thing.

Derek gasped at the sight before them as the fae’s illusions faded away. Stiles laughed some more, overwhelmed by seeing how many druids had been caught in their web. 

They knelt, slumped on their knees, listing over and unconscious, only the fae’s magic keeping them upright. There were over thirty in all, arranged around the Tree’s stump, some in clusters, some by themselves. Stiles skipped over to them and walked around, tipping up one particular face, then the one next to it. Rose and Rebecca. The two women from the aspen forest who had come to Beacon Hills hoping to steal his Nemeton spheres.

“This is going to be the best thing ever.” Stiles’ smile grew sharp and wanting, anticipation at an all-time high. He shook out his hands; nerves tingling as adrenalin made its way through his body.

“Deaton!” Derek cried, making Stiles turn.

Derek had found the man on his knees like the other druids, and was trying to shake him awake. Deaton stayed where he’d been put, mouth open slightly in sleep and completely unaware of what was happening. 

“Please, Stiles, save him,” Derek asked, looking Stiles’ way. His eyes travelled further along the line of druids, coming to rest on a smaller figure. “Bonnie! Stiles, you can’t do this!”

The fae stepped up to Stiles’ side. “We can and will, wolf,” it stated. “Do not interfere or you shall join them.”

“I’m not a druid,” Derek retorted, somewhat confused. “Neither’s Bonnie.”

“It matters not,” the fae admitted. 

Stiles nodded. “It’s symbolic more than anything else, Der. But you won’t be part of it, that’s just a joke.”

The fae turned an enigmatic look on him, but didn’t contradict. Derek watched the fae warily, obviously not as trusting as Stiles that the fae was just playing.

“Let’s begin,” the fae announced, urging Stiles to move to the outside of the rough druid circle.

Coaxing Derek over to his side with a ‘come here’ gesture, Stiles tried not to twitch too much in excitement. Derek took his hand and held it tightly. Stiles gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t seem to do much if the grimace Derek gave in return was any indication.

“As with the deer, you shall take the lives of the sacrifices into you then direct the energy into the Tree,” the fae instructed, Stiles nodding.

“Doesn’t there need to be a ceremony of words or something?” Derek asked, wilting a bit under the fae’s dark glare. “Isn’t that what normally happens?” His eyes flicked to the edges of the clearing.

The fae snorted. “Such device is for humans.” Raising its arms, it gestured to the sky and the forest around them, taking in the moon, the Nemeton, the druids and Stiles. “We have all that is required.” It gave Stiles a smile that had Derek stiffening by his side. “Begin,” it told him.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles opened up the void within himself. It yawned wide, big and hungrier than ever, and he stumbled a bit under its pull.

“Don’t make him do this,” Derek growled at the fae. “It isn’t him!”

“I can do it, I have to,” Stiles tried to reassure him.

Derek jerked their clasped hands. “No, Stiles, please, wait, just wait a moment.”

“Do it now,” the fae ordered.

Stiles closed his eyes and reached out. He’d never taken a life without direct contact before so it took him a while to latch on to the nearest druid. An unknown man, his life a mix of good and bad deeds, spilled into the void’s maw. Stiles groaned at how good it felt. The void stretched out that little bit further.

Derek made a choked off noise beside him, still holding on tight. “Stiles,” he whispered as if in pain. “Stop.”

“Keep going.” The fae was in Stiles’ head, its voice drowning Derek out. “Another, now! Do it!”

Stiles opened his eyes and looked at the next druid in the circle. The first dropped over, released from the fae’s magic, and Derek’s claws dug into Stiles’ hand. The next druid was female, old and easily taken, sweeping into Stiles like she was almost glad to go, to be free of the illness that plagued her and the memories that haunted. 

Two souls inside him, Stiles felt bloated and unwell for all that he craved more.

“Let them go now,” the fae told him. “Put them in the Tree. We shall merge the moonlight and direct the magic.”

Stiles nodded, somewhat detached from things. All he could feel was how good it felt to take, to feed the void, to kill. But when he tried to let their souls go, the druids refused to leave. Stuck in him, they held on tightly and Stiles began to freak out. “I can’t,” he panted. “I can’t let them go.”

“You can,” the fae said, its hands held up and moonlight spilling through its fingers, threading through the night like strobing waves, all heading towards the Tree. “Give them to the Tree’s healing.”

“I’m trying!” Stiles cried out. “They won’t go!”

“They will, you are keeping them for yourself,” the fae reprimanded him. “Let them go, now!”

With Derek yelling words in his ear he couldn’t hear, Stiles shoved at the soul energy within him, pushing the druids out and away. There was a pop without sound and Stiles felt a draining; the souls rushing out of him, intwining with the moonlight the fae was manipulating and sweeping into the Nemeton. 

Stiles sucked in huge breaths. Derek’s urgent hands on his face made him blink and look at his wolf.

“Stiles! God, Stiles! Stop, stop it! You can’t do this!”

“I have to,” Stiles said somewhat woodenly, blinking some more. That had been so much harder than it had ever been. “Why …?” he trailed off, trying to understand.

“Why?” Derek repeated, frowning. 

“You want them, the need grows stronger with each one you take,” the fae told Stiles, still threading moonlight into the Tree with tiny movements of its fingers. “Finish it, you are capable.”

Stiles tried to start again, but Derek held him back. 

“No!” Derek snarled. “You’re killing him!”

“He is hearty and whole,” the fae disagreed, casting a flat look in Derek’s direction. “Help him or not, but do not hinder. This second warning is given for his benefit, not yours. You will not get a third.”

“Der,” Stiles said softly. “Please.” He patted Derek’s arm, trying to placate him.

Derek only growled. 

“I need to touch them to make it easier,” Stiles decided, wobbling towards where Rebecca and Rose knelt together, side by side. Placing a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, he instantly felt stronger; her soul ripe and ready to be plucked. Stiles grunted in relief and sucked in a breath as Rebecca’s lightning-quick energy started to reel into him.

Staring sightlessly ahead, Stiles let the void take what it wanted. The moonlight on his skin tingled and the Nemeton grasped the energy the fae was directing at it. Its branches were creaking as they grew and there was a sound in Stiles’ head like the opening of a long-closed door. His head lolled on his neck and Stiles could feel himself begin to slip away, edging towards the astral plane, his body on auto-pilot, the void taking, taking, taking, Rebecca’s soul unweaving from her flesh and passing into him.

“STILES!!” 

The call came from several voices at once, some of which roared, and the cacophony broke through his trance, bringing him back to his body. His sight came into focus and he gazed in a slight stupor at what was happening before him.

His dad was clambering through the snow towards him, Lydia and Mason flanking him. Scott, Liam and Malia were bounding in front, claws and fangs on display, eyes flashing in the moonlight. Stiles watched them as if they were in slow motion, every movement crisp and stretched, roars coming from Scott and Malia and an answering one from Liam.

Derek pulled Stiles back from Rebecca, breaking their physical connection. When Derek’s hand slapped into Stiles’ chest, a bright flare of magic assaulted him. Known magic, druid crystal magic, twanged through Stiles, surprising in its ferocity. It snapped the void back from its feast, flinging Rebecca’s soul out of Stiles and away, back to her body. 

Stiles yelled and thrashed in Derek’s arms, not fighting his wolf but the pain of loosing a soul he so desperately wanted to consume. “No!” he cried out, voice guttural with need, stretching his hands out towards Rebecca. “She’s mine!” 

Derek picked him up and ran with him, away from the druid circle, away from the stump, away from the fae. Stiles could see the fae, kneeling on the ground, an arrow sticking out of its back and another in its shoulder. He watched in horror as Argent stepped up calmly, closer than the others, and fired another arrow through the fae’s throat. The fae straightened, snarling, the wind beginning to pick up and hound the pack and Stiles’ dad as they converged on it.

“No! Derek, no, let me go!” Stiles cried but he was unable to get free, Derek using all his strength to hold the crystal to Stiles’ chest where it seemed to be burning right through him. “Let me help it!” Stiles pleaded, his heart breaking.

Derek was ferocious when he growled back, “Never! I’m not letting go!”

Stiles keep struggling, looking back to the fae, in time to see the wind pick up Scott and fling him into the ground with such force the breaking of bones was heard across the grove. The wind rushed at Stiles’ dad next, snow blowing up in a direct line and Stiles screamed in terror.

The fae looked over at him from where it was trying to pull the arrow out from its throat and the wind died away, leaving Stiles’ dad looking harried but unharmed. The fae went to stand and suddenly Lydia was there in front of it, pushing out her hands and screaming with all the force of her banshee heritage coming to the fore. The sound wave broke over Stiles as a crescendo that nearly burst his ears drums and flattened the fae on its back, shoving the arrows straight through its body as it landed. It twisted and cried out a snarling curse and the sky became roiling clouds, thunder booming overhead and making everyone flinch.

“Run!” Stiles cried out in warning. “RUN!!”

The bolt of lightning hit the Nemeton stump and in the seconds where everything turned white, Stiles couldn’t understand why the fae hadn’t directed it towards everyone. Then, as the moonlight and magical energy the fae had been building exploded over the grove, Stiles realized what it was doing. The power was now enough, the lightning had tipped the scale, it was finally time!

In the silence that followed the lightning strike, the only sound apart from some quiet moans and a few epithets from the pack was the fae’s laughter, ringing out into the clearing and sounding euphoric. Nearly everyone had been blown off their feet by the force of the blast and they picked themselves up slowly, checking each other for injury. Mason was the slowest to rise, possibly due to the cast on his arm, as Stiles did a quick headcount. The pack, Argent and his dad were all alive and he found himself immeasurably relieved.

Derek was still holding him, Stiles clutching back just as tightly. Wound around each other, they were the only two, apart from the fae, who hadn’t been pushed over by the lightning. Stiles’ magic had worked again without conscious thought and thrown up a shield.

“You okay?” Derek asked, looking Stiles over. “Stiles?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m okay, you?”

Derek nodded back, and they both looked down at Stiles’ chest. Derek opened his hand and in his palm was the remains of one of Deaton’s crystals, except this one was bigger than the rest, or it had been, before it had crumbled into pieces. With a finger, Stiles gingerly nudged a sizable chunk. It fell into black powder which was whisked away by the breeze that was sweeping over them.

“Dear heart!” cried the fae happily, ignoring the pack and Argent and Stiles’ dad completely as if they posed no threat to its life. As it no longer had the arrows in its body and seemed completely unhurt, Stiles knew that to be the case. “The Tree has arrived!” It gestured towards the Nemeton with a flourish, the motion seeming to be the last thing needed to bridge the gap between the astral and physical word.

Suddenly standing there, the moonlight striking off its branches, the Tree loomed over the grove and everyone in it. Stiles remembered how glorious it had been in the fae’s memory but to behold it now was overwhelming. He let Derek go, drawn forward by the majesty that called so enticingly to him. It was in his head and in his soul so completely that for a moment the Tree was all there was. It was everything.

Derek’s hand pulled him up short as their claim burst through Stiles’ mind, Derek shoving everything he had into it, or so it felt. Stiles became awash in concern and love and all the things Derek felt for him. It was all there, all directed right at him. He turned and caught Derek’s eye. 

“Don’t look at it,” Derek told him. “Stiles, don’t.”

Stiles’ eyes travelled back to the Nemeton of their own accord but Derek’s hold on him, the claim pulsing with his belief in Stiles and in them together, stopped the Tree from taking complete hold of him again. “So beautiful,” he murmured, then he frowned, feeling something wasn’t quite right.

The pack by now were arranging themselves around the fae, readying themselves for another attack, but the arrival of the Tree had stunned them somewhat and their gazes flickered from the fae, to the Tree, to Stiles. Scott was watching things intently and Stiles could just about feel his need to attack, but for some reason he was holding back, waiting.

Stiles’ dad was edging slowly around the group, the need to be with his son utmost on his face. The fae gave him a smirk, showing it knew where he was for all his sneaking and didn’t care one whit about it.

Argent nocked another arrow and watched the fae just as Scott did. 

The fae payed him no mind, instead walking towards Stiles and making everyone tighten ranks. Cocking its head, the fae eyes met Stiles with a very telling look.

“Guys, stop,” Stiles ordered, knowing what the fae could do to them if they managed to piss it off too much. The fact that being shot with arrows hadn’t done so meant the fae was feeling magnanimous. But that could change.

Scott motioned for everyone to back down. Liam scoffed angrily but deflated as the fae stalked passed him, its eyes calculatingly cold as it appraised the young wolf and found him lacking.

“Dear heart.” The fae stopped before it came too close to Stiles, Derek growling by his side, flexing his claws. “The Tree is not yet healed completely. You need to continue.” 

Everyone attention was drawn to the slumped figures of the druids and Deaton and Bonnie. They hadn’t been touched by the raw displays of energized power lashing the grove minutes before. They still knelt peacefully, unaware of what was transpiring. 

“He won’t be doing it!” Derek snarled, stepping in front of Stiles to block the fae once more. “I won’t let you use him anymore!” He turned to Stiles and said urgently, “Listen to me, you don’t know what its been doing to you.”

“Derek, stop this,” Stiles told him, worried Derek’s stubbornness would make the fae finally loose patience. 

“No, Stiles, you need to know,” Scott spoke up. He looked at the fae. “Let him remember everything you’ve done. All your lies, all your games. Show him how you’ve manipulated him into believing things that just aren’t true.”

The fae did nothing, only looked at Stiles expectantly.

“You can do it, Stiles,” Derek told him. “Think. It should have lost its hold on you enough for you to fight it.” His hand came up and touched Stiles’ chest. 

Stiles knew the crystal had done something to him, more than just rip Rebecca’s soul away. He found himself listening to Derek, to Scott, in a way he hadn’t for what seemed a long time. That was strange enough in itself for him to ask the fae, “Is it true what they’re saying?”

The fae laughed scornfully, peals of wind gusting from its lips. “We play with everyone, what makes you think you were exempt?”

Stiles’ dad spluttered in affront, anger coloring his skin in a way that was obvious even in the moonlight. “You think this is a game?! My son is not a toy!”

The fae sneered at him. “No, he is not,” it agreed with a hiss. “He is much more, but only if we help him to be!”

It brushed a hand sideways and the wind picked up again, blowing everyone back a few yards and keeping them there as they fought to stay upright, Derek included. Argent lost his bow and arrows to the wind’s relentless whirl. 

The fae stepped into Stiles’ personal space. “Finish the Summation. Take the druids and end them all.”

“No!” yelled Derek, his voice coming through the wind. He shoved against its force with renewed vigor, hair whipping into his face. “Stiles, the fae was the one who put me in the telluric current!”

Stiles looked at the fae in surprise. “You kept Derek asleep?”

“We saved your wolf from death,” the fae scoffed. “A little rest did him no harm.”

“But Hans saved him,” Stiles said uncertainly, just as the truth dawned on him. “Because you ordered him to. You changed Ramona’s poison. But then, that means you knew what she was planning … and you didn’t stop it.” 

“Why would we, when it played into our plans so nicely? A little magic and your wolf had no idea they were coming for him.”

“Derek could have died!” Stiles exclaimed, not wanting to believe the fae cared so little. “What else did you do?” he whispered as he felt another headache starting. He rubbed at his eyes, swiping at them in annoyance. Not now, he didn’t need a headache now.

“This, that, the other,” the fae answered coyly. “But you waste time, finish the Summation!”

With a cold certainty, Stiles knew then he’d been played. “They’re right aren’t they, you’ve taken my memories.” 

“Dear heart, we have only made things clearer for you, do you not understand? Without complications, your choices were easier.” The fae looked pleased with itself. “Which is what you asked of us.”

Stiles gaped at the fae. Yes, he’d asked for help, but not that. Never that. “Give them back,” he ordered, sounding braver than he felt.

The fae made a noise of annoyance. “We have done so much for you and yet you still push us for more. You overstep.”

“You fucked with my brain!” Stiles shot back, anger overcoming uncertainty.

The fae’s hand flashed out but it touched Stiles’ face gently, far more so than expected. “You are greater than you were, thanks to us. With us, you will continue to become what you are meant to be.”

Stiles snarled and wrenched his face away. “I’m not a Build-A-Stiles, you can’t mould me into what you want! You need to get out of my head right now!”

“We will continue our hold on you,” the fae disagreed. “Influence is required ever so often.”

“Don’t you dare manipulate me!” Stiles hissed at it, his headache worsening as his anger bloomed.

“We dare because you are ours,” the fae hissed right back. “Dare you strike us?” it challenged, lifting its chin defiantly.

Stiles’ hands were clenched into fists, one raised as if to strike. A burst of pain in his head robbed him of his anger and his hand dropped as he groaned.

“Keep fighting, Stiles!” Scott yelled at him. “Don’t let it make you forget again.”

Stiles looked in confusion at Derek, who nodded and added, “The headaches are the fae’s magic screwing with your head, making you forget.”

“What?” Stiles asked. Another stab of pain had him seeing swirls of color, the night stars brightening into bursts of light that pierced his brain. He clutched at his head, scrunching his eyes up to block out the light. Distantly he heard people crying out and Derek’s roar of anger as the wind whipped up again.

When Stiles slit open his eyes, he saw the ground had been cleared of snow by the latest wind gust. A line of wet dirt streaked across the grove, Stiles and the fae on one side; his dad, Derek and the pack on the other. When they tried to cross, the wind picked up again, forcing them back. The fae was playing with them, enjoying the frustration it was creating.

“Stay there,” Stiles told everyone. “You can’t fight this.”

“But you can,” his dad told him. “You are fighting it, even if you don’t know it!”

Stiles frowned in consternation, rubbing at an elbow. 

“Your memories, Stiles! Ask for your memories back!” Lydia yelled. “Give it an ultimatum, force it to let you go!”

Stiles stared at her, tempted to tell her to fuck off. She’d given Brine’s arrows to Argent, stole from him, got him in trouble. If it hadn’t been for Derek, his dad would know he’d had a hand in Brine’s disappearance. Why would he do anything she suggested?

“Stiles,” Derek said. “Do it.”

Stiles shook his head, and the fae laughed. “He is ours, more than you know,” it taunted.

“What difference will it make if we’re wrong?” Derek pressed, ignoring the fae. “What harm is there in doing what Lydia says? Don’t you want your memories back?”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered, wanting that so much. “I don’t want to be crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” Derek told him. “You can prove it, just make it let you go. Tell it again to give you back your memories.”

“Again?” Stiles asked, squinting.

Alarm crossed everyone’s faces, Derek shooting Stiles’ dad a look that caused Stiles to worry. His wolf was scared. 

“Stiles, catch!” Mason shouted suddenly, throwing something across the wind line with his good arm. 

Stiles caught it, yelling as his hand started to burn. 

“Don’t let go!” Mason called out as the wind whipped up and everyone was blown off their feet, thrown across the grove. 

Out of some strange instinct, Stiles did as told, clenching down on the crystal he could feel, and using his other hand to help keep his fist closed. 

The fae started to advance on him. “Let it go!” it ordered, but Stiles found he could think through the pain in his hand, much as he had when Derek burnt his chest, and he shook his head.

“You can’t do the Summation without me,” he stated clearly.

The wind stopped, dropping away as the fae stared at Stiles. “Do not do this, dear heart.”

The pack, Derek, Argent and Stiles’ dad picked themselves up, Liam helping Mason. They started to run as fast as they could through the snow towards Stiles. Scott was yelling at him, telling him to keep fighting, Malia roaring as she jumped a small snow drift. 

The fae pushed them back again with another wind gust. Stiles could see how the humans were tiring, but they got up once more, still trying to get to his side. 

“Give me back my memories or I won’t help you,” Stiles dared to say, not sure at all if he’d actually go through with his threat but something was going on here and he needed to know what. Keeping the crystal in his hand, Stiles folded his arms to hide their shaking in order to appear challenging.

An ugly expression crossed the fae’s face, twisting its mouth into a scowl, its eyes dark and without reflection. “We shall take your friends, your family, if you do not do as we say.”

That the fae would do what it said was not up for debate, but Stiles was somewhat shocked. It threatened others, not him. 

“You will loose this fight,” the fae warned in a gentler tone. “Dear heart, please stop this.”

“I may loose,” Stiles told it, trying to keep fear for Derek and his dad from showing. He’d bluffed his way out of situations far more dangerous than this, though right then he couldn’t think of any. He winced as a particularly bright burst of pain chased itself into his left eye. “But I’ll keep on fighting anyway. Over and over again, even if I don’t remember doing it.”

“It is tiring,” the fae agreed. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“I’ve never been too good at that,” Stiles admitted. “Why can’t I know the truth, what did you make me forget?”

The fae looked up at the sky before it lowered its head and sighed, nodding once. “We will lift our hold on your memories.” It reached out its hand towards Stiles and stroked the air, the gesture translating to gentle pressure against Stiles’ temple.

There was a second where Stiles felt like he always did; anxious, tired and with a burning anger that was ready to rear up at any moment. Then a pressure he hadn’t realized he’d been under lifted from his mind and he felt a thousand times lighter, the anger draining away as if it had never been his. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, tears of relief springing up. 

Then his brain started screaming at him, memories coming to light in a jumble of distorted images, too fast and too many for any one to stand out with clarity. He put his hands over his ears, hoping to stop the whirl in his head.

It ended, and Stiles looked up. 

Only a few seconds had transpired while his brain was being descrambled; everyone standing at the line the fae had drawn in the snow. His dad was breathing heavily, Derek was almost feral, and Scott and the others looked more than ready to take on the fae singlehandedly. Even Mason, who by all accounts shouldn’t have even wanted to be there, seemed determined if not a little scared.

Blinking furiously, Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, trying to reconcile what he’d thought he’d known to be true, with what actually was. 

Really, he needed a few hours, perhaps days, to work everything out, but him moving seemed to push everyone into action and they leapt over the line, the fae allowing it this time. Derek was in the lead, an explosion of concern coming from him that had Stiles tripping over himself to get away.

“No!” he cried out, making everyone stop. “No!” He held up a hand, looking away, unable to take what they wanted to give, nerves too raw to be able to take it. “Please,” he said desperately. “No.” 

“Stiles,” Derek implored through his fangs.

“No,” Stiles repeated brokenly, unable to explain any further. 

The fae had no such trouble. “We have done what you wanted,” it told him. “Now do as we want.” It gave everyone a contemptuous look, several of the pack extremely uncomfortable as its eyes roved over them. “So far we have been merciful for the sake of our young changeling, but we grow tired of interruptions. Stand and bare witness or leave, we care not. Try to interfere again, and become part of the Summation yourselves.”

Scott opened his mouth to retaliate. 

“There’s nothing you can do, Scott,” Stiles said with a finality that made everyone pause. He may be confused about how he felt about a lot of things but going through with the Summation was still top priority. Eyes coming to rest on Bonnie, Stiles walked over to her. Looking down at her small form, Stiles saw her as she really was: not a druid, not someone who’d done horrible things, just a girl who didn’t deserve to be killed. “Let this one go,” he said quietly to the fae. “She isn’t needed.”

The fae raised an eyebrow. “You expect even more from us when we have given you everything you wanted?”

“The druids are enough,” Stiles insisted gently. “She’s neither here nor there in importance. Wipe her memory and send her away with the others.” He indicated to the pack, looking quickly away when his dad tried to catch his eye.

Everyone reacted poorly to his suggestion, just as he’d thought they would. They started calling out, refusing to go. Stiles then wondered how exactly they’d gotten into the grove in the first place and realized that’s why Derek had been acting so weird before. He’d been stalling, waiting for backup to take down the fae. If they’d talked to Stiles he could have told them their plan would fail. Nature can’t be destroyed with arrows. Even if they were made of iron and probably newly magicked. They should have talked to him.

But they had tried to talk to him, hadn’t they. And Stiles had refused to listen. Over and over again. 

“Please,” he said, looking only at Bonnie’s sleeping face. “You all need to go. Take Bonnie and go.” He couldn’t have them here for what he had to do next. They couldn’t see the darkest side of him, though he’d done his best in the past few months to shove it in their faces. He’d been so proud.

“Son.” His dad was still trying to get Stiles to look at him. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t any,” Stiles replied. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do. But you shouldn’t have come.”

“Where else would I be?” his dad replied. “Please, Stiles, just leave with us.”

Stiles and the fae shared a look, the fae’s dark humor evident once again. It could afford to be lenient with his dad’s pleading, the look told Stiles, but he wouldn’t get what he wanted; the fae wasn’t bending anymore. 

“I can’t, I won’t,” Stiles told his dad. “Remembering hasn’t changed what needs to be done. I know you all thought it would, but it hasn’t. The Summation can’t be stopped. It shouldn’t be.” He finally looked at his dad, seeing the dismay he was causing. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Stiles,” his dad begged, “please, don’t.”

“You can’t be here for this,” Stiles told him, told them all. “You need to go now.” 

“As it should be,” the fae agreed. “We will send them away.”

“And Deaton,” Stiles added, aware he would not be able to get his revenge on the druid without serious repercussions that he didn’t want to deal with. He looked down, away from the fae, thinking only of the the times Deaton had helped the pack. It would help his next words sound believable. “I owe him for things he’s done. I can’t take his life while I do.” 

The fae shook its head. “Not the druid, he must stay. The Summation will take them all, as it should be!”

“I’m not able to take his soul,” Stiles said again, this time being completely honest. “It isn’t something I’m happy with but I can’t change what is.” 

He glanced over at Scott before tilting his head slightly towards Deaton, hoping Scott got the message. Stiles then gave the fae his complete attention, ignoring Scott as he moved slowly to crouch beside the vet. “When Deaton, Bonnie and everyone here,” he waved a hand to encompass the pack and the others, “have left the preserve, I’ll continue.” 

Sighing, the fae nodded. “If we did not enjoy you the way we do,” it admitted, making Stiles shudder at the full implications of that, a memory surfacing that made him want to throw up, “we would force you into compliance.”

“Like you haven’t been doing just that?” Derek spoke up, right at the very worst moment.

The fae however, smiled, not irritated by Derek’s vitriol. “Just so.” It gave Stiles a considering look. “We find memories taxing to manipulate over long periods of time and our young fae fought us every which way, making us proud while also being considerably irritating. We had to adjust and reform things far too often for our liking.”

“That’s because you don’t realize who he is,” Derek snarled. “You keep trying to change him but he’s too strong for that. You’ve hurt him so many times with your meddling! I should kill you just for that alone!”

Stiles held out his hand, hoping to calm his wolf down. “Don’t,” he asked. “Please, just go with everyone.”

“No,” Derek said, jaw stickling out obstinately. “I’m staying by your side. If this Summation is really unable to be stopped, I’m with you through the whole thing. You won’t be alone.”

“Me too, I’m staying,” Stiles’ dad announced. “Through whatever happens.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scott agreed. “I’m sticking with you, Stiles.”

Lydia and Malia murmured their agreement with Mason joining in. Liam refused to say anything, just lifting his chin obstinately when the others shot him exasperated looks. Stiles understood. Liam was staying for his friends, for his pack, not for Stiles.

“I’m afraid no one’s going to be staying,” Argent told them. He was standing near the Nemeton and held a very familiar metal pipe in one hand, pressing it against the trunk. “We’re all leaving, including the druids.”

The fae hissed, the noise echoing around the grove like a live slithering thing intent on eating everyone, and went to flick its hand at Argent.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Argent warned. “Ramona had the right idea with this, though I’ve made a slight adjustment. If I let go for even a second, the tree burns. And while I’m sure either Stiles or yourself would be able to put the fire out, I’m willing to bet it’ll cause significant damage at such a fragile stage in its healing.” 

At those words all Stiles could feel was utter horror, unable to help the noise that left his mouth; part desperation, part anger. He made an aborted move towards Argent before stopping, not wanting to test the man’s resolve. 

Argent smiled grimly. “This is a precarious situation; one wrong move and the healing of the Nemeton takes a huge step backwards, maybe even right back to how it was before Stiles was roped into this mess.”

Stiles ground his teeth together, having to remind himself not to do anything rash. “Don’t do this,” he warned. “You’re not going to like the repercussions.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Argent replied. “Seems you loose this time, Stiles.” He directed the next comment towards the fae. “Now, send everyone home. I know you can do it. And no screwing with them. If not to their homes, then send them to town, safely, so they can make their own way. No mind manipulations either.”

Stiles didn’t point out that Argent wouldn’t know if the fae did what he wanted. Once the druids were gone, the Summation was over. Stiles had no idea how the fae would take such a blow, but he bet it wouldn’t be good.

The fae had become as still as stone while Argent and Stiles were talking. It stared at Argent with no expression on its face and that warned Stiles more than anything else that it was about to do something. 

Even if Stiles had been of a mind to try to warn Argent, which he wasn’t, the fae moved too fast. In the blink of an eye, it went from standing in front of Argent to behind him. It’s sudden shift in space had Argent trying to reorientate himself, only to be frozen in mid-turn, unable to lift a finger or drop the metal flame thrower.

Giving everyone a dangerous glittering look, warning them back, the fae ran its hand along Argent’s neck, sharp fingers and even sharper nails leaving bright trails visible in the moonlight as it scrapped along skin. “We are tired of your interfering, we warned you more than once,” it said into Argent’s ear. “We shall enjoy ending the likes of such as you.”

“Wait,” Stiles said, wincing and wishing he didn’t have to say what he did. “I still owe him.”

The fae’s eyes slitted in displeasure as it paused. Slowly it removed its hand from Argent’s neck, Argent visibly swallowing. With out saying a word, the fae stepped back, dragging Argent’s unresisting form like he weighed nothing. He looked like a mannequin being shifted, heels scrapping up snow. The fae kept moving until they were both a good distance from the Tree, then with a flick of its hand, it released Argent from the binding it had placed on him, snatching the metal pipe in the same instant and making it disappear with a twist of its wrist. 

The fae gave Argent a disgusted look. “The owing had been paid in full, your life saved,” it decreed, before its mouth twisted with dark mirth. “Such saving grace will only be afforded while you abide within the grove. Leave, and your life becomes forfeit.”

Argent looked back at the fae blandly. “And the druids?” he asked, somehow able to keep his cool even after being told the fae would kill him before the night was out. “The Summation, as you call it, can’t go ahead. I know what you want and it’s not for the betterment of Beacon Hills or the people in it.”

“What?” Stiles asked, looking between them. 

At the same time, the fae said, “We shall have what we are owed, what we would have had years before if not for the interference of these druids.” It spat the word out as if it tasted bad. “The fae were a great race, we shall be again.”

“I don’t think so,”Argent disagreed, shaking his head. “The time of the fae uninhibited has passed. Your lands have been taken, your power diminished, and it must remain so. Your plan for domination will not come to be.”

“Domination?” Stiles questioned. “No, this is about healing the Tree to bring back balance, that’s it.” He turned to the fae. “Tell him.” 

“We will gain our retribution through whatever means we must, dear heart.”

Still not getting where domination came into it, Stiles said, “Okay, but the Tree needs healing so the magic is clean and Beacon Hills will prosper. We won’t get crazy supernatural shit happening on a weekly basis. Isn’t that what we’re working towards?”

The fae smiled pityingly at him. “Young changeling fae, without human influence the forest will flourish and the earth will be unencumbered.”

Stiles stared at the fae. True, it hadn’t exactly spouted supremacy crap like Brine’s, but something still didn’t sit entirely right with what he was hearing. “Was Hans telling the truth when he said the fae would rule everyone?”

“When the fae rule over all, peace will be infinite and sustained.” 

“But that’s not … no,” Stiles said, unable to voice the jumble of thoughts whirling around in his head. All he could figure out was that this whole situation didn't feel right anymore. 

Suddenly, Argent moved, and in a rather de ja vu moment, he stabbed the fae in the chest, right where humans have their heart. Stiles wasn’t sure if the fae’s heart was in the same region or not, and he may have had a lot of issues he needed to deal with now he’d gotten his memories back, but as the fae stared at him then at the obsidian blade sticking out of itself, Stiles realized he didn’t want the fae to die, no matter what it was proposing for Beacon Hills.

“What is this?” the fae queried, hand coming up to grip the blade. Its skin was changing color, quickly loosing its brightness and becoming streaked with black. The more the black spread, flowing out from the blade, the more the fae became hard to see, indistinguishable from the night.

“The druids stopped you before and I will stop you now,” Argent told it, watching the fae as it struggled to stay upright. “The blade has been inside a fae,” he gave a quick glance at Stiles, “and has learnt how to fight your kind. It may not kill one as old as you are, but it will inhibit you for long enough that unless you release the druids, I’ll imprison you in such a way that you’ll never get free. Even if it takes years, I will make sure you become nothing but a memory, and then not even that.”

The fae knelt with a graceful slow motion, a groan coming from between its pinched lips. Stiles knew what it was feeling; the sinking crawling mass invading its body, magic unable to come to its aid, its very body becoming a prison before Argent even made good on his promise. 

Carefully kneeling by its side, Stiles took the unprotesting fae in his arms. “Let them go, save yourself,” he whispered.

“No,” the fae whispered back. “The Summation must continue, we have given so much for its completion.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “But if you die, what happens to me?”

The fae blinked at him. 

“You created me,” Stiles told it. “I may not want … but I can’t …” He gave a huge gulp and looked away for a second, catching Derek’s eye and seeing the pain that was there. Stiles focused back on the fae. A memory surfaced then, one that had remained hidden under the rest. The fae had sent Brine to Beacon Hills, had sent him after Stiles. Deaton had evidence. Stiles had been kidnapped and tortured and almost killed … because of the fae. Instant distress made Stiles want to drop the fae to the ground. 

But there were things that needed doing first.

“Don’t you dare let this asshole beat you,” he said to the fae. “Let the druids go. We’ll find another way to heal the Tree completely. One that isn’t about domination of a species.”

The fae was almost all black by the time Stiles finished talking, blending seamlessly with the night. Looking up at Stiles with wide unblinking eyes, it moved a weak hand.

The druids disappeared from the clearing, Bonnie and Deaton along with them, leaving Scott crouching in the snow empty handed. Only the two dead druids stayed where they were, empty husks lying in the snow illustrating Stiles' actions more starkly than a neon sign.

“Where did you send them?” Argent asked, kneeling down by the fae’s side. 

“Edges,” the fae replied slowly, looking at Argent with a special kind of hatred Stiles knew would never die.

“Where? Speak plainly,” Argent told it, wrapping his hand around the obsidian blade.

The fae hissed and Stiles grabbed Argent’s wrist none too gently, squeezing in warning. “They’re at the border of the preserve,” he interpreted. “Now fix this, it did what you wanted.”

Argent gave him a somewhat surprisingly sad look. “You’re still blinded to it’s faults.”

“Shut up,” Stiles snarled. If anyone was going to judge and he was to listen, it wouldn’t be Argent he’d turn to.

Argent shook his wrist and Stiles let go. 

With a great sucking noise, the blade was pulled free, a nauseating putrid smell coming forth from the wound as vileness started to seep out in thick globs. The fae shuddered but made no sound, only its glittering hard eyes giving voice to what it was thinking.

“There,” Argent said, wiping the blade on the snow and standing up.

“Wait,” Stiles called to him. “You’re not done.”

Argent eyed the fae with a dispassionate air. “Yes, I am. I didn’t promise to heal it, merely to imprison it if it didn’t set the druids free. It did, so I’m letting it go. Against my better judgement. If it dies from its wound, so what? Greater creatures have died by its hand, I’m sure.”

“You can’t do that,” Stiles argued. “It’s not up to you to judge what it’s done.”

“Can’t I?” Argent scoffed. “That’s what you were doing to those druids, what you did to Carlos and the others. I know you killed them even if I can’t prove it.” 

Stiles flinched, those particular deaths not ones he wanted to dwell on.

Argent nodded in grim confirmation of what had happened. “Besides, the details are what binds you, isn’t it? That’s how fae get out of things, how you managed to fool everyone. Who says only fae can use that to their advantage?” 

Stiles had nothing to say to that.

After a pause, possibly to make sure the fae wasn’t getting up anytime soon, Argent walked over to where the bow and arrows were laying in the snow, bending down to retrieve them. 

“I expect to see those at my place tomorrow,” Stiles’ dad told him. “Remember, they were only a loan.”

Argent nodded, running a thumb over the tip of an arrow. “Gavin Brine had an eye for good workmanship,” he quipped, smiling thinly as Stiles glared at him.

Watching Argent walk away out of the grove, Stiles wanted to rip something vital off him, possibly his head, but the fae stirred, drawing attention back to it. Some of the light that had gone missing was slowly creeping back into its skin but it was a pale feeble imitation of what it should be. 

“We have failed,” the fae whispered to him, Stiles leaning closer to hear. 

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “We’ll find another way.”

“Such optimism,” the fae replied with a wry smile. “Our retribution has been lost to us.”

Stiles sighed. “The druids will die, every one of them, sooner or later.” He said it for his benefit just as much as for the fae’s, still feeling in his gut that the druids should pay for what they did.

“Come with us,” the fae said, it’s hand cold and hard against Stiles’ own. “Leave, and come with us. We shall regroup together.”

The idea of spending time with the fae, alone, was not a pleasant one like it would have been only hours before. “No,” Stiles refused, glancing up at Derek and his dad. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“We would cherish you,” the fae promised. “Our dearest heart. Our young changeling fae.”

Stiles squashed down the memory of the fae ‘cherishing’ him. He was already someone’s fae, and it wasn’t someone who took advantage or manipulated him. “I’m good,” he said.

“Maybe in time,” the fae hedged. “We have so much of it, as do you.” It gave Stiles one last look, then disappeared from his arms, the two dead druids vanishing at the same time. Stiles was grateful for that small mercy and just hoped the fae buried their bodies somewhere they'd never be found.

Tipping his head up to the sky, Stiles closed his eyes and just breathed, trying to stem the tears that threatened to fall. The moon was still high overhead, the failed Summation not having gone far past midnight even though everything seemed to have taken an extraordinary amount of time to pan out.

“You okay?” Derek asked, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Not even close,” Stiles admitted, leaning back against Derek’s legs. “I want to go home now.”

“Stiles, are you —” Scott began, but trailed off as Stiles stood up. 

The others crowded around, looking like they all had something they wanted to say. 

“Not now, Scott,” Derek said.

Being quicker at reading his son than almost anyone else, Stiles’ dad said loudly, “Come on, you lot, time to go home.” With a look that carried the weight of mountains, he gave Stiles a slight shoulder squeeze with one hand before letting go. “I’ll see you later.”

Keeping his eyes averted, Stiles managed a slight head nod in acknowledgement.

Worried looks were exchanged between the pack, Scott displaying the most reluctance to leave, but they all trailed after Stiles’ dad, crossing the snow and heading into the trees.

After they’d gone, Stiles looked to Derek. “Home?” he asked hopefully. “Your place?”

A slight frown flittered over Derek’s face before he nodded. “Our place,” he agreed.

“One thing, first,” Stiles requested, crossing to the base of the Tree and placing a hand on the trunk. 

The Tree wasn’t reaching outwards any longer, just sitting, the fae’s moon magic and the two druid souls pulsing within. Soon they’d be consumed, helping the Tree to gain a little more growth. But without the healing being completed, the magic would remain tainted and bad things would keep happening.

Resting his forehead on the bark, Stiles closed his eyes, remorseful at being unable to do what was needed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. The Tree neither heard nor cared for his apology, but it felt right to say it anyway. 

A hand on his back stopped Stiles’ spiraling thoughts and he straightened up, giving Derek a tiny, thankful smile.

***

Back at the cabin, Stiles climbed into the shower, sluicing away non-visible dirt as a myriad of memories flittered through his mind. Trying to reconcile what he’d thought was true with what actually was turned out to be hard. How could he be sure he remembered everything? Was everything he thought he remembered actually how it happened? 

A tear dripped off his nose and he placed his face under the spray. 

Tears had been coming unbidden since he left the grove. It was as if, now free from the fae’s magic, his body was trying to rid itself of the stress it had been under. Anger and mistrust and general loathing had been his for months and though he still harbored some very deep feelings of hate towards certain parties, he could see things differently now, would do things differently if given the chance.

The tears came thicker and Stiles wiped at his face, scrubbing at his skin harder, ignoring the sting.

Derek came into the bathroom and stood quietly, his uncertainty coming through nice and clear curtesy of the claim. 

Stiles turned away and keep scrubbing, the steam of the water helping to obscure him. When the shower door opened and Derek carefully stepped in, sans clothes, Stiles’ cleaning slowed, his throat closing up as Derek’s hands took to stroking gently over his shoulders and back. 

When Derek urged him to turn, Stiles did so, the resulting kiss soft and reassuring. Derek kept space between them and Stiles didn’t move in, content with the press of their lips as Derek sent love through the claim.

The kiss ended and Derek led an unresisting Stiles out of the shower, turning the water off and toweling Stiles down as he stood there. 

Both of them still naked, Derek took Stiles into the bedroom and lay him down on the bed. The room was dark, lit only by a gentle glowing lamp. At some time Derek had put the board back on the window so the room was also warm, shut off from the cold outside. 

Stiles turned in Derek’s arms, his back to Derek’s front and made quiet noises of consent as Derek started kissing down his spine. He lay unmoving as the kisses were laid along his ass, Derek’s tongue soothing along his crack. Stiles shivered but otherwise didn’t react. He heard Derek moving around and the snick of a tube opening. Fingers rubbed and entered him slowly, gently, opening him up as the claim kept pulsing love at him. 

When Derek finally pressed his dick inside, Stiles was so open that Derek went deep with no resistance. Laying down close, he bent one leg up under Stiles’ knee. They were so snug together, Stiles could feel Derek’s heart against his back. Derek started kissing him again, his hand rubbing over Stiles’ hip and coming to rest on his groin. With arousal a slow growing thing, Stiles didn’t push into the touch. Derek’s hand left his dick to go lower, rolling Stiles’ balls gently for long moments that seemed to stretch into a culmination of kisses and Derek murmuring how much he loved him. 

When Stiles was panting quietly and fisting the sheets, moving his hips back, Derek started to thrust, but he kept it unhurried, the rocking deep inside Stiles stroking him in ways that made him want Derek to reach every part of him, to touch him everywhere. 

Stiles was shivering as he came, Derek not far behind. 

Afterwards, Derek stayed within him, softening and slipping out naturally as they lay entwined, Derek nuzzling into the back of Stiles’ neck, his stubble scratching along skin. 

“I love you,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear, placing a kiss on the shell of it before pulling up a blanket to cover them both. 

“Love you, too,” Stiles replied.

Derek dropped off to sleep quickly, snuggling Stiles to him and breathing loudly. Stiles stayed awake, staring into the dim glow of the room, unseeing. 

***


	19. The Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With understanding comes confusion.

The next morning as Stiles woke with the dawn and wished he hadn’t, everything that had happened the night before tried to cram itself into the forefront of his thinking. Shutting his eyes tight, he tried willing time to stop. When that didn’t work, he carefully extradited himself from the bed, slithering out from under the arm of Derek, who was on his front snoring into a pillow, and crept into the bathroom.

Afterwards, he headed into the kitchen and Derek found him there, making a huge pile of toast. Having already used one loaf, he was well on the way to decimating the second when Derek took the bread away from him, making Stiles look up from where he was slathering on butter.

“Have enough?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised as he took in the mile-high pile of toast on Stiles’ plate. 

“I was making you some,” Stiles told him, nudging Derek’s plate over to him. It held a smaller amount but Stiles conceded it had been getting up there.

“You going to eat all that?” Derek asked, taking a piece and inhaling half of it in one go.

Stiles shrugged and took his plate, the toast on it wobbling precariously, over to the sofa. Curling his legs up underneath himself, he started eating. Derek joined him, watching as Stiles methodically finished the first slice and started on the next. 

The toast tasted awful and Stiles was reminded one of the reasons he’d stopped eating was because a lot of food tasted wrong to him. He’d thought it was because he was fae but what if it was because of his PTSD or the fae’s manipulations, or stress, or even the void? How many understandings were wrong, how many things in his life didn’t he have a handle on? The idea was daunting in its complexity.

Stiles made a face and put his plate down. “Don’t worry,” he said to stave off Derek’s objections, “I’ll eat them.” Maybe. He leant back on the sofa, closing his eyes.

The morning sunlight coming through the windows had a nice subtle glow to it and the air held the cold of winter as the fire had burned down low over night. The fresh feel of things held the promise of calming tight nerves. Stiles could only hope. A nudge to his foot caused him to shift and side-eye Derek.

“We need to talk about things,” Derek said a little apologetically. “I know you don’t want to.”

Stiles sighed and rubbed a hand across the bridge of his nose. “Nope.” 

They sat in silence for a while, Stiles wanting to shut off his brain. It had begun ticking again thanks to Derek. In order to stave off the big, huge, grossly overwhelming issues, Stiles focused on one that in the scheme of things seemed rather smaller now than it had before. “Ramona’s still out there. She was in the clinic when it burned, but I’m sure she got out.”

“She did,” Derek confirmed. “She wasn’t as lucky as you or Deaton, though.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles turned his head to look at Derek properly. “How do you know?”

“She got injured in the fire and is at the hospital.”

Unable to believe it, Stiles felt a relief that was tinged with a dark glee and he started to laugh.

Derek looked slightly ill. “She’s in the burn ward.” 

Stiles laughed harder and slapped at his knee. 

Fixing Stiles with a hard look, Derek said, “She’s under police guard, so don’t even think of going there. She’s being charged with arson as soon as possible. Deaton confirmed your story of her being the culprit and didn’t bring you into it.”

Stiles thought it was possible he could rupture a lung with how hard he was wheezing. Wiping away a mirthful tear, he sat up straighter, feeling a whole lot better than he had a few minutes before.

He was still chuckling under his breath when Derek spoke again. “That’s it? You don’t want details?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What’s to know? If she’d burnt bad enough, she’ll die. If not, she’s still in pain, hopefully scared for life and about to get a criminal record, so the jokes on her. She’ll be recovering for a long time no matter if she gets off or not, so she’s effectively taken herself out of the game.” He gave Derek a cheeky carefree grin. “What I love best is that she did it to herself, so no one can blame me for it!” 

Derek frowned and looked away. Without conscious thought, Stiles’ fox ability plucked at the emotions floating off him and Stiles caught a mix of consternation and old grief. Flinching internally, Stiles wrestled his fox, shutting the ability down tight, as tight as the void was, locking it deep and ignoring its very presence.

“It’s not a game, remember?” Derek said, sounding grave. “Fire is not a joke.”

“Just a figure of speech,” Stiles retorted flatly, but he felt like a real dick for not taking into consideration Derek’s history. He sent a wave of rueful apology through the claim and Derek’s shoulders uncurled as they caught each other’s eye.

Bringing up the past, however unintentionally, got Stiles thinking of the fae which he’d been doing his best not to. He’d trusted it beyond all others, even Derek sometimes and just like with the Nogitsune, he’d been tricked. Only the fox demon had never pretended to be other than what it was. It was never someone Stiles had cared for.

“Why did it do it?” Stiles asked softly, knowing Derek would understand what he was talking about. “There were easier ways. Didn’t it trust me?”

Derek was quiet for a long moment, giving some thought to his answer which Stiles appreciated. “I think the fae couldn’t be anything other than itself.”

Stiles nodded. Derek had gotten it right. The fae liked the long plays. Just thinking about everything it had machinated made Stiles feel weary to the point of collapse. “This was fun for it.” 

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. 

The quiet that followed wasn’t all that comforting and had Stiles curling into himself, wrapping his arms around his middle and pulling his legs up to give some measure of comfort. “What happens now?” he asked, breath hitching. “Things are so wrong. So many things are so wrong …” 

The tears started falling again and this time when Derek scooted over and hugged him, Stiles didn’t try to stop them.

***

Sometime during his crying jag, Stiles had started shivering. Derek had wrapped him in blankets, staying close and talking about nothing in particular, letting his voice be the balm Stiles needed. He’d described the leaves in the evergreens being the brightest colour outside the windows; the birds singing down by the river; the aspens with icicles shining from their branches and tinkling in the wind. Stiles lay with his head in Derek’s lap, listening to his wolf’s voice as it painted calming pictures for him.

“Shhh,” Derek told him, when Stiles made a noise of protest to him moving away. “I’m taking you outside.” 

Bending down, Derek scooped Stiles up and carried him, blanket and all, outside. Stiles didn’t ask to be put down and Derek took the opportunity to brush his nose into Stiles’ hair, breathing him in. Tipping his head, Stiles smiled the smallest bit as Derek rubbed his stubbly cheek along Stiles’ neck, scenting.

Derek had been telling the truth about the aspens. A multitude of icicles hung from their branches, mini rainbows sparkling off them into the sunlight. Holding out a hand from under his blanket, Stiles silently asked and Derek obliged, taking him closer until his palm was pressed up flat against an aspen’s trunk.

Breathing deep, Stiles felt the tree slide into his awareness. Almost asleep because of the cold, its energy was sluggish from being stored in the heart core. The aspen would be ready to stretch fully awake once the air and ground warmed enough to signal Spring had arrived. 

A memory that had never been tampered with came to the forefront of Stiles’ mind. One where he’d first discovered he could ‘talk’ to trees and how Derek had felt some of the miraculousness of it through a touching of skin. With a hope of righting one of the many wrongs he’d committed, Stiles placed his other hand on Derek’s arm and opened up to their claim. At the same time, he let the aspen ride the connection and slide into Derek the way it did with him.

Derek stiffened in shock but awe was quick to follow. “Oh, Stiles,” he breathed out, “is this what you feel?”

Murmuring an affirmative, Stiles closed his eyes, pulling Derek with him into the tree’s life. The understanding of its timeline, the seasons and the attachment it had to the other aspens who shared the same root system became clear in its entirety. As always, there was the impulse within Stiles to keep going, to let everything go and become the tree entirely, to flow away and be nothing but nature. But with ease born of practice, he brushed the impulse away, taking both Derek and himself back along the connection until they were separate from the tree once more and just themselves. 

Derek held Stiles close and bent his head so their foreheads touched. “It’s the most incredible thing,” he mumbled, his breath mingling with Stiles’ own. “Thank you for sharing it with me.” 

Their kiss was soft and cold, Derek’s lips chilled from the air. Warming up quickly enough, Stiles licked into Derek’s mouth, tasting the butter from his breakfast. Better than on toast, Stiles hummed, welcoming the slow swirl of arousal in his stomach.

After a while, the kissing came to a natural stop and, faces pressed up against each other, they stayed for a long moment, just breathing together.

A shrill ringing broke the silence, making Stiles wish he’d done more damage to Derek’s phone when he’d zapped it than he actually had.

Still carrying Stiles, Derek walked back to the cabin, letting the phone ring out. When they got to the porch, Stiles was swung down onto his feet. Keeping the blanket around his shoulders, more for tactile reassurance than any need for warmth, he waited, heart flipping over anxiously in his chest.

“It was your dad. No surprises there, he’s been calling on and off for a while now,” Derek said, after checking his phone.

Looking away, Stiles chewed on his lip, not wanting Derek to call his dad back but second guessing himself enough that he said nothing. 

Derek gave him a considering look before gesturing for Stiles to sit on the steps with him. Stiles took the offer gratefully and draped the blanket across both their shoulders. They looked at Derek’s phone where he held it out in front of them, the unanswered call blinking on the home screen notices.

“He wants to come see you.”

Stiles shot Derek a nervous glance. “Please, no.”

“We could call and talk to him on speaker,” Derek offered.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Stiles said, meaning he didn’t know what to say. 

Derek seemed to get it and nodded. “He just wants to make sure you’re doing alright.”

“I’m not even a little bit alright, Der.”

“You’re doing better than you’ve been for months, trust me,” Derek told him. “Let me call your dad. You don’t need to tell him anything much if you find you can’t.”

Stiles took a moment to think about it. “Okay,” he finally agreed, still uncertain but trusting Derek knew best.

The phone call was picked up on the first ring. “Derek,” Stiles’ dad said, getting straight down to business, “how is he?”

After a pause, Stiles replied, “Hey, Dad.”

“Stiles?!”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Heavy breathing sounded on the line, as if Stiles’ dad was trying to get control of himself, before he said, “It’s good to hear your voice.” There were so many things not said that it was obvious his dad was holding back, trying not to appear too overwhelming. It was almost as if Derek and him had worked it out beforehand.

Stiles gave Derek a telling look. “You too,” was all he managed to say, finding himself as incapable of speaking without his throat constricting as his dad seemed to be.

There was a heavy silence from them both which made Derek roll his eyes before saying, “Noah, Stiles just wanted you to know he’s doing better.”

Stiles raised one eyebrow at this, to which Derek responded with one of his own.

“I’m glad to hear it,” his dad said, sounding genuinely happy. “Look, I’ve still got a few hours at the station before I can leave, but I want to come and see you both afterwards.”

Without waiting for Stiles to fully process the request, Derek said, “We’ll be here,” and hung up.

Breathing was suddenly very difficult for Stiles. “Derek?” he wheezed out.

Derek calmly took Stiles’ hands in his and looked him straight in the eye. “Keep breathing. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”

Stiles took a shaky breath in.

“You need to see him sooner rather than later,” Derek began. “You can’t hide from him and I won’t let you.”

Stiles started shaking his head, breathing out in a giant whoosh of expelled air.

“No buts, Stiles,” Derek insisted. “And keep breathing, that’s it.”

Trying to do as asked, Stiles gripped tightly to Derek’s hands.

“You may not think so, but you’ll feel better once your dad’s here,” Derek continued. “Breathe in, and out.”

Stiles complied, his shoulders jerking with the effort to maintain a steady rhythm in his lungs. 

“Good, keeping going,” Derek advised. “Now, we have a few hours until he gets here, so you’re going to rest for a bit.”

Stiles pulled a face, not wanting to risk dreaming about things. “No,” he blew out, sounding more like the fae than himself, he was so whispery, which set off a whole new round of shaking.

“You’re okay,” Derek said consolingly. “I wasn’t wrong before, you’re doing so much better. I can see it, I can feel it. Your aggression has all but gone, you’re not snapping at me and being defensive. Trust me, you might think this is bad, but Stiles, you’re coming out the other side of bad. Please, trust me on this.”

Being unable to trust himself, Stiles nodded and found his shaking ebbing away as Derek sent love-cherish-comfort through the claim.

“What do you get from me?” Stiles wheezed out when he had enough breath. “In our bond, what do I send to you?”

Derek stilled. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

Derek looked away. “Pain,” he admitted slowly. “For months now, so much pain.” 

Before Stiles could object he wasn’t in any physical pain, he realized Derek was talking mentally, and that he couldn’t argue with. Shutting his mouth and wishing he hadn’t asked, Stiles managed to take back one hand although Derek wouldn’t let go of the other.

“That’s not all,” Derek continued. “You send me love, so much love all the time, it never stops. That’s a constant.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he believed that. “Even when I did things to hurt you?” He could think of so many.

“Wasn’t really you,” Derek told him. “Once I worked that out, I could feel the true you underneath all the false things you said and did.”

“I don’t think they were all that false,” Stiles objected.

“Did you mean any of it?”

“Not the stuff I did to you,” Stiles said, sure of that much at least.

“What about with everyone else?”

Uncomfortable with the question, Stiles pulled his other hand away, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t know.” Some of it he knew he was sorry for, other things not so much, and it was difficult to know if he was thinking clear about any of it.

“That’s okay,” Derek let him know. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

***

Stiles was too wide awake to sleep.

When the knock on the door came, he tensed up, unsure if the anxiety was just him or left-over manipulations from the fae. He’d had the same self-doubt after the Nogitsune and he could feel himself falling right back into that headspace, though he was very aware all of this was real. 

Derek opened the door as Stiles tried not to sink into the sofa. “Hey, Noah,” Derek greeted, moving aside to allow Stiles’ dad into the cabin.

“Derek,” his dad replied, sounding a whole lot calmer then he had over the phone. He didn’t even bother to shuck off his Sheriff’s jacket before crossing the room to where Stiles was. “Kiddo,” he said, a whole lot of emotion there in just one word, and hugged Stiles where he sat.

Uncertain at first, Stiles took a second to reciprocate. When he did, and his arms were wrapped around his dad’s middle, the hug became intense and one that Stiles didn’t want to end. His dad seemed of the same mind, Stiles ending up shedding a few tears before they drew back from each other.

Settling on the sofa, his dad took a breath, relaxing and smiling. A few more tears leaked out which Stiles wiped away with a finger.

“I know you said it before but I want to ask again, how are you feeling?” his dad queried, looking like he was afraid Stiles might bite his head off for asking. It was a fair enough assumption.

“Confused,” Stiles admitted. “And sorry. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

“Oh, Stiles, it wasn’t you, it was the fae.”

“Dad, no, I … it’s not …”

Derek chose that moment to materialize from wherever he’d slunk off to, thankfully interrupting Stiles’ poor attempt to explain how it had still been him. They couldn’t just blame the fae for what he’d done.

“The others are here,” Derek announced, hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“What?” Stiles went to stand up but Derek kept him seated.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said. “We thought it best if we explained a few things to you.”

That didn’t sound good at all and Stiles put a finger to his mouth, chewing on the nail and waiting for Derek to open the door so he could flee. But Derek preempted his escape plan and it was Stiles’ dad that got up to answer the door while Derek took his position on the sofa. 

An arm around him had Stiles feeling less exposed but when everyone, including Liam and Mason, trooped into the cabin, Stiles was very close to sunlight-leaping out of there.

“Don’t go,” Derek whispered into his ear. “You should know all this, trust me.”

Stiles swallowed, allowing Derek to pull him that little bit closer. He wanted to pull his legs up and hide behind them but didn’t want to appear completely freaked, so refrained from doing it. 

Everyone came over slowly, giving Stiles subdued hellos and a few uncertain smiles. Stiles managed to nod a few times in reply, speaking being beyond him right then. Yesterday this whole situation would have had him furious and icily focused, ready to hurt whoever talked to him. Now things were so different, a myriad of his own emotions threatened to squash him to a pulp where he sat, such was the weight of them.

“How are you doing?” Scott asked from where he stood by the fireplace.

Shrugging, Stiles scratched at the side of his face. “Okay.” Then, because he knew he had to try a bit harder, he shook his head and answered, “No. I’m …” He trailed off, unable to explain the jumble of stuff that was moonlighting as his thoughts. “I don’t know.”

Scott gave him an understanding smile. Perhaps it was something Stiles was giving off, nervousness, worry, anxiety, maybe all three, but Scott decided to stop acting like he needed to be careful and plopped himself down on a couple of floor cushions, right by Stiles’ knee. If he leant in, they’d be touching. They were almost at the same hight and Stiles was relieved to find having Scott close was actually better than having him at a distance. Carefully, he touched Scott on the shoulder then withdrew his hand. 

“Okay,” Scott said, looking at everyone before bringing his attention back to Stiles. “So there’s some things you should know. The first one is, I lied.”

Stiles tilted his head, blinking a bit.

“When I said you weren’t pack,” Scott explained further, “I lied. You were always pack, Stiles. You still are.”

“I don’t …” Stiles didn’t understand. “What?”

Scott ran a hand over his hair in a gesture that was more Stiles than him. “I thought it might help you with everything.” 

Stiles tried to make sense of it. “Because I needed a reason for my anger that I’d believe?” That he wouldn’t have believed the real reason, the fae reason, was left unsaid.

“Yeah, but there’s more to it,” Scott said. “I figured if you thought we weren’t pack, the magics on you wouldn’t react as strongly because you didn’t need to fight us to be free.”

Stiles remembered the feeling of release he’d had, believing he was no longer pack. “I think that worked,” he said. 

“For a bit,” Scott agreed. 

“Yeah.” Stiles scratched a fingertip along his pants. “But I’m still pack?”

“Of course you are, dummy,” Malia interrupted from where she sat on the hearth. “You always were.”

“Then how come I don’t feel it?”

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know, did you ever before?”

Stiles didn’t think he’d ever felt what a pack bond felt like. He’d been human, unable to feel it even with his spark; then he was fae and under the influence of strong magics, and had never taken the time to learn the bond before he’d been told he wasn’t pack.

“Maybe you’ll be able to sense it later. It’s not a big deal,” Scott assured him. “Just know that it’s there. You’re one of us.”

Stiles’ throat closed and he rubbed a hand across his eyes, while Derek’s fingers clenched then relaxed on the back of his neck. When he looked up, Scott was smiling at him with sympathy. 

“Does that mean Derek’s still pack too?”

“Yeah, I am,” Derek agreed. “But I wasn’t going to let you think you were totally on your own.”

“Huh,” Stiles said in response, not having anything else to give. 

“That’s it?” Liam spoke up. He was sitting on the floor with Mason, the two of them farther away from Stiles than anyone else. “Why aren’t you yelling at them for lying to you?”

“Um,” Stiles looked at Scott, then Derek. “I understand why they did it?” It came out as a question, because he still wasn’t entirely sure that was all there was to it.

“We talked about this, Liam,” Lydia said a bit impatiently. “The fae’s magic caused Stiles to revert to the more negative aspects of his personality. It wanted to separate him from us in order to manipulate him with greater ease. When it didn’t work exactly as it hoped, it started to take his memories, leaving just enough for Stiles to feel it was the only one he could trust. Now the magics are gone, Stiles can be himself again, which is essentially still the same as he was but not as nasty and rude.” She shot Stiles a smile. “And able to accept when people are helping him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam said somewhat sheepishly. “This is going to take a while to get used to.”

“That’s about right, isn’t it?” Lydia asked Stiles, as if she didn’t know already. In typical Lydia fashion, she’d managed to sum up everything that had been happening which Stiles didn’t understand. It was perfectly clear to her, probably had been from the very start. If he’d only managed to talk to her, to seek her help, perhaps things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. “It’s okay,” Lydia told him, knowing exactly what Stiles was thinking in that amazing way she had. “We can talk about it later.”

Stiles nodded. “You’re the one who really figured out the pack thing, didn’t you?” 

Lydia laughed, while Malia snorted. Even Liam and Mason smirked at Scott’s expense.

“Hey, I helped a little!” Scott objected, causing more amusement.

The feel of the room lightened. Stiles could tell even without using his fox ability that everyone was more at ease. He hated to bring them back down but there was one thing he had to know. “How’s Bonnie?”

Everyone sobered immediately. 

“She’s alright, isn’t she?” 

It was one consolation among all the bad Stiles had done. He’d kept Bonnie alive even while being manipulated. He didn’t want to be told something had happened.

“She’s upset,” Derek advised.

“She’s in the hospital for stress,” Liam added, not at all worried about being blunt about it. “She completely freaked when she woke up and had to be sedated. She has the hospital staff convinced she’s suffered a mental break, raving about magic and fairies and them wanting to kill her.”

Wishing he hadn’t asked, Stiles dropped his head, staring at his hands and trying not to think about the fact he’d caused someone to become mentally ill. When he swallowed, his throat was tight and his mouth dry. As he started to notice the room again, Derek was rubbing his back and telling him to breathe and Scott had his hand on his knee, talking to him softly, telling him it wasn’t his fault.

Stiles put his hand over Scott’s, knowing he was looking for any pain to take. “Not that kind of pain, Scott,” he murmured, before sitting up from where he was bent over. “What’s going to happen to her?” 

His dad was the one who answered. “She’s going home with her parents for counseling and treatment. She’ll be fine.”

Fine. What a relative term. Considering her parents had given her away to a hunter who abused her and then she’d had her life threatened, Stiles didn’t think Bonnie was going to be fine any time soon.

“Hang on a sec, guys,” Scott interrupted, going to the front door. 

Derek’s arm around Stiles grew tighter. “Stay here,” was all he said, before Scott opened the door and ushered Deaton in.

The man seemed fine for someone who’d almost died the night before. But he had been unconscious for all of it so maybe that’s why he looked relatively unfazed to be walking into a room where his would-be-killer was sitting. Stiles knew Deaton had every right to be angry at him, and part of him even agreed with that assessment. The bigger part of him still distrusted the druid and while he might not want to kill Deaton anymore, Stiles’ general dislike wasn’t going away.

“Stiles,” Deaton greeted as he came over to the group. “If you're ready to listen, I'm ready to tell you what I know.”

Stiles thought he was probably all out of whatever he needed to have in order to talk things through but it didn’t seem he was getting around it, so he merely nodded and took hold of Derek’s hand where it was slung across his shoulder, using the grip to centre himself.

“I think apologies are in order,” Deaton started, after he pulled up a chair from the library and sat down next to Mason. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I miss-diagnosed you more than once and it allowed the fae to play us all, you especially.”

If he’d had one, Stiles would have used the pause button on his world controller right then, just to give himself a bit of time to take in the fact he’d been given an apology from the guy he’d tried to kill. Twice. To add to the awkward, Stiles wasn’t sure if it was expected of him to reciprocate. For all the apologies he still needed to give, Deaton’s was way down on the list, if it was there at all.

“I’ve managed to gain a basic understanding of the fae’s plans,” Deaton continued, not at all phased by Stiles’ silence. “It looks like the Summation was timed to coincide with specific events, namely the anniversary of the Nemeton’s felling and the full moon, when the healing of the Tree could be achieved with the underlining purpose to sway its alignment from being an impartial and balanced force of magic, to being firmly on the side of the fae.”

There was a beat while everyone it seemed, not just Stiles, thought through what they’d just been told. 

Malia got there first, summing it up by saying, “The fae wanted to make the Nemeton its slave?”

“Essentially, yes. But you’re missing the nuance involved.”

Stiles agreed there had to be way more to it than that. The fae was never someone for such simple thinking. Frowning, he bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t speak up and sound like he was defending the fae’s actions. 

“Still weird,” Liam commented, staring at him. 

When Stiles looked his way, Liam’s gaze didn’t waver. Stiles was the one who broke first, dropping his eyes back to his hands. 

“Should we be worried the fae will try again?” Mason asked. “It didn’t get what it wanted, right, because the Nemeton isn’t healed?”

All eyes turned to Stiles.

“It is and it isn’t,” he said, still finding his hands a lot more interesting than anything else. “The Tree is in the physical plane now and will stay here, but the magic is still unbalanced.”

“Um, wasn’t it always here?” Mason questioned further. “The stump was anyway.”

“Yes, and no.”

Liam snorted, annoyed. “Looks like some things haven’t changed. You still don’t want to tell anyone anything.”

Stiles didn’t bother to explain that the mess inside him made things entirely too hard to do much of anything. He turned his head from the group, hand rubbing along one thigh, and waited for someone, anyone, to fill in his silence.

“The Tree is more than just a physical manifestation,” Deaton told everyone. “When it was felled, its tie to this plane was severely damaged. Most of its energy and magic reverted to the astral plane and telluric currents. Stiles has accomplished something of great magnitude in healing it as far as he has.”

Turning to Deaton in shock, Stiles stared at him. Of all the people to give him a compliment, if that’s what it was, he would never have guessed it would come from this man.

“Great magnitude??” Liam looked livid. “He was killing people! He’s a —”

Mason grabbed Liam’s arm. “It’s not that simple, Liam, calm down.”

“The Tree needs to be healed, Stiles is correct in that,” Deaton continued, speaking over Liam’s protests. “Not in the way he was going about it, as we all agree, but healing has begun and must continue if we wish to avert a catastrophe.”

“You don’t mean the fae using the Tree to get revenge, do you?” Scott guessed.

“No.” Deaton looked as serious as he ever had. “The Tree can’t be left in its current state of imbalance. It was not completely healed and is now more vulnerable to outside influence. It will take very little to tip the balance either way.”

“But Stiles is protecting it,” Scott said in defense.

“You had little trouble getting into the grove once I gave you these,” Deaton reminded him, producing several wooden rings from his pocket. He handed them to Derek who tipped them into Stiles’ cupped hands. “And there are druids in town, all with their own Nemeton wood I presume.” He fixed Stiles with a look. 

Stiles nodded, more interested in putting all the rings on his fingers and counting to make sure he had one for each person who’d run into the grove. Minus Derek and Deaton, there were six: five pack members and his dad. They sat on one hand, two on his pinkie finger, each one a reminder he’d have to visit Argent soon and take back the Nemeton wood he possessed. 

“I will try to get in contact with the druids, see what they remember, but I can assure you many will not want to leave without answers.” Deaton was still looking at Stiles as if waiting for something.

Stiles shrugged. “I can deter them. So far, druids have been more annoying than anything else.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Deaton warned. “There will be many with tricks you haven’t seen before.”

“Then playing with them will be fun.”

“Stiles, don’t hurt them,” his dad cautioned. 

“Not even a little bit,” Stiles replied. When his dad continued to look rather worried, he gave a crooked smile. “I promise.”

There were a few startled gasps from the pack at his words but his dad relaxed and smiled back at him so Stiles considered it a win. Just because he couldn’t hurt the druids didn’t mean it was going to be any less fun. In fact, having the promise holding him back was a good thing. The void wouldn’t be able to take anyone. It would remain stuck, shrunk down into the depths of him and no amount of wanting a soul would get him to break his word.

Deaton gave him a slight head nod when Stiles happened to look his way. “We still have the issue of the Tree not being stable. I’ll continue to research and hopefully I’ll find something that will help.”

Again, Stiles was left shocked. “You’re going to help me finish healing the Tree?”

“Of course, it was always my intent to help you to do so. I hope you can see that now.”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, somewhat reluctantly. Seeing it was one thing, wanting to believe it was another.

“Still so very weird,” Liam muttered to himself. Mason nudged him in the side.

“Now we’ve got that sorted, anyone want a coffee?” Stiles’ dad asked, standing up. To the chorus of welcome that greeted his offer, he clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Teach me how to use your machine, son.”

As Derek stood up to comply, the others started to move, wondering over to the kitchen and talking about food. Stiles stayed put on the sofa. “Mason,” he asked softly as Mason took his time to get up off the floor, “can I speak to you?”

Mason and Liam traded looks, before Mason nodded. “Sure." Ignoring Liam’s pull on his good arm, he sat down on the sofa, Liam standing awkwardly by his side.

Stiles blinked a bit, not expecting the closeness. “You’re so confusing.”

“I bet lots of things are confusing you right now,” Mason guessed. 

“Completely confusing,” Stiles admitted. Slowly, he put words to how things were for him. “I remember everything. I can’t understand how I feel about any of it, well, some things I do. Most things are still jumbled up.” 

Mason was nodding his head as if he understood more than Stiles did, which there was a good probability of. “You’ve got two perspectives on everything. How you felt when things first happened, and how you feel about them now without the fae’s magic influencing you. Trying to work out where the differences are has got to be tough. Especially with it coming at you all at once.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out, finding some relief in having it put so succinctly. “That’s it exactly.” He rubbed at an elbow. “I do know how I feel about what I did to you.” 

Liam stiffened where he stood. 

“What I did to both of you,” Stiles amended. “I’m really sorry. I was a Grade A asshole, Liam, you were right. What I did …” He gestured to Mason’s arm in its cast. “It was horrible.”

“I don’t trust you,” Liam said without pause. “I don’t believe the fae was manipulating you all that much. Influencing you, sure, but it was still you and I’m not going to just forget what you did.”

“You shouldn’t,” Stiles agreed. “You’re right. It wasn’t the fae who did those things, it was me. I wanted to do them, so I did. It doesn’t matter about the why.” He made sure Liam was looking right at him. “You not trusting me is a good thing.”

“You’re scared,” Mason figured out with some surprise. “You don’t want to do bad things, but you think you still might.”

Stiles nodded silently, looking down. The void was in him, it wasn't going away. There was no way to sugar-coat that part of himself, and it was a big part, too. “I’m glad you guys understand. Everyone’s been a bit too …” he trailed off.

“Ready to forgive?” Liam gave Stiles an unimpressed rise of eyebrows. “Yep, I agree.”

“I don’t.” Mason shocked them both by reaching over with his good hand and touching Stiles on the wrist. “Stiles, I don’t think you would have broken my arm unless you weren’t thinking clearly. Would you do it now?”

“No!” Stiles shied away from the touch and Mason withdrew. “I’m sorry about what I did. I wouldn’t do it again. I won’t. I promise.” In saying those words something settled in him, fear of what he was capable of trickling away with the binding.

Liam also looked more ready to accept what he was saying.

“You didn’t need to promise,” Mason told him. “You scared me, you really did. But I’m still willing to trust you.”

“How??” Stiles shook his head. “You shouldn’t.”

Mason shrugged. “You’re not going to let yourself make the same mistakes.”

“How do you know?” Stiles didn’t even know that.

“Yeah, Mason, how do you know?” Liam asked.

Mason’s smile was crooked as he answered, “It’s pretty obvious. Just give yourself some time and you’ll realize it’s true.”

“You’re a good person,” Stiles complimented him. “Better than most. Way better than me.”

Mason waved the compliment away. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who can’t see when someone needs my help.”

There was a blurring to Stiles’ vision and when he blinked, a tear fell down his cheek. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing. “And I am truly sorry.”

“I know.” With another understanding smile, Mason stood up and walked over to the kitchen, asking loudly for a second breakfast.

Liam stayed looking at Stiles with a clearly conflicted expression before he followed Mason, leaving Stiles sitting by himself. He wasn’t alone for long. Derek was at his side in minutes, sinking back onto the sofa and handing him a fruit drink.

“Thanks,” Stiles told him, meaning for more than just the drink. 

“You’re welcome,” Derek replied with a smile and a crook of eyebrow.

He leaned in and Stiles met him halfway, putting a hand around the back of Derek’s head and threading fingers through his hair as they kissed. Comfort-love-pride washed through their bond to him. Carefully, Stiles sent back love, so much love that his wolf pulled away with a rueful smile.

“Better stop now or I won’t want to, and it won’t matter that we have an audience.”

“They can leave anytime,” Stiles pointed out. 

“We can wait,” Derek said reasonably. “They’re here for you, after all.”

Stiles looked over the sofa at everyone as they milled around the kitchen bench, eating and drinking. He didn’t feel so overwhelmed anymore. Confusion was still his enemy but he thought he may have found a way to deal with it. Promises, and trust that Derek knew better than him.

With that in mind, when Derek pulled him up off the sofa, he allowed himself to be led over to the group. 

***

Lying on Derek’s bed later that night, Stiles stared at the ceiling, wishing his wolf was awake, rather than being blissfully fucked-out and snoring. Their love making had been intense, Stiles riding the peak numerous times before falling over the edge, and he wanted to go again. Things were strangely heightened and so clear; like the way Derek had groaned for him and the tang of his sweat as Stiles sucked him; the snug relentless heat of Derek’s ass; Derek riding him long and slow. They’d managed numerous times but it just hadn’t been enough and now Stiles was hard and annoyed, brain buzzing like he’d drunk coffee and downed a few adderall at the same time.

Sitting up, Stiles pulled the blankets off Derek, watching as skin came into view, getting a thrill from the fact both of them were still naked. Derek stretched as the night air touched him, bringing an arm up sleepily over his head. Stiles stopped, watching for signs his wolf was awake. Not that he’d mind, but there was something incredibly arousing about having Derek lying there unknowing while Stiles thought of ways to get himself off.

Shifting up onto his knees, Stiles could feel a squelching inside him, lube and Derek’s come dribbling down his thighs. It normally would have been disgusting but Stiles was just happy he was slick because anything that sped the process along was a good thing. The next step was getting Derek hard enough to take him. Casting glances up at Derek’s slack face, Stiles licked his palm and gripped gently, slowly stroking, feeling Derek stir from his touch. After a few minutes, Derek still wasn’t hard enough so Stiles alternated stroking with sucking. That got more of a reaction. Hollowing his cheeks, he dipped down as far as he could, the head of Derek’s dick bumping against the back of his throat. Gagging a bit, he eased off but didn’t stop, wanting Derek inside his ass as soon as possible.

“Stiles,” came the whisper, Derek eyeing him sleepily.

“Let me,” Stiles whispered back, breath playing over spit-slicked flesh, enjoying how Derek shuddered and hardened further. 

Flipping a leg over Derek, Stiles slowly sat down, easing Derek’s length inside himself in a stretching glide he’d never tire of. Sighing in contentment and right where he wanted to be, he leant over, lying on Derek’s stomach, squiggling back so everything stayed nice and snug. Derek hissed at the friction and placed his feet on the bed, allowing Stiles to push against his thighs. Slowly, they rocked with each other, creating a deep aching fuck that had Stiles closing his eyes and moaning.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out again, hands coming up to cup Stiles’ face. 

Stiles kissed with his eyes closed, lipping at Derek’s tongue and down his chin to his neck. 

“Fuck,” Derek groaned.

Almost there, his orgasm so close, Stiles could feel the sleep that had eluded him, it was creeping over his body, adding a strange but not unwelcome tinge to the proceedings. Laying his head on Derek’s shoulder, he slowed down even further until he was barely moving, the slightest of shifts making Derek’s dick catch on his rim, tingles rising up from the sensation and making him shiver. 

“I want your knot,” he told Derek quietly, eyes still closed, imagining the pull and stretch he’d be subjected to. “I want to feel it deep in me, I want to sleep with you inside.” 

“Jesus!” Derek spluttered, grabbing Stiles’ hips and shoving him down once, twice, as his hips bucked up.

Stiles came as claws pricked his skin. 

Placing a kiss on the arm that was in reach, Derek asked, “Better?” somehow knowing what Stiles had been aiming for.

“Mmm,” Stiles replied, not moving, a deep lethargy sneaking over his limbs. “Sleep now.”

Derek snorted, turning his head into Stiles. “I already was.”

“No complaining,” Stiles mumbled.

“No complaints,” Derek agreed quietly, nosing Stiles’ hair. His hands left Stiles’ hips to lay on the bed and a snore came not too long after.

***

Stiles was dreaming of the Nemeton. Even connected to it the way he was, dreaming of the Tree wasn’t something he particularly liked, the dreams tending to be filled with dark memories of his possession. 

This one had the same shadowy feel: dark grove, the Tree in spotlights. But this time the Tree was no longer a stump. Fully grown as it was in real life, its branches creaked above Stiles’ head as a wind blew, tugging his jacket and sending ice crystals dancing across the snow in flurries. 

The air was full of magic, dirty tainted magic, the magic Stiles had been trying so hard to get rid of. Clarity came upon him and it was obvious then how he’d been growing the taint, each death he’d given it, each life forcibly taken helping to pull the Tree from the light and further into the dark, upsetting the balance he’d been trying to achieve.

“No,” he whispered, hands coming up to hold the sides of his head as pain in his temples made him squint against the harsh spotlights. “No, the fae doesn’t control me.”

“Did it control you when you killed me?”

Stiles whirled around, and there was Hartley Lane in a Beacon Hills police uniform. “No,” he whispered again.

“When I died, did you weep for me?” she asked. “Sad alien boy. Did my death give you what you needed?”

“No,” Stiles answered, choking as he repeated himself, the meaning of the word a lot different than before. 

“No?” Lane cocked her head. “That’s too bad. What about his?” She turned to look at the man who was standing near her.

Stiles still couldn’t remember the man’s name, only knew him as the one who’d chased the balls of fae light. 

“Did my death please you? Does it still please you?” The man walked closer to Stiles, holding out his hand, causing Stiles to stumble backwards.

“No!” Stiles cried out, then he grunted as pain erupted in his lower back. A deep, stabbing sensation. He turned his head and saw Carlos Flores standing behind him.

“I think my death must have meant something.” Carlos pulled the obsidian blade from Stiles’ back and shoved it into him again, this time through his front, piercing his lung. Carlos’ cheek rested against Stiles’ own. “Its been inside you, hombre; it can kill you now.”

Stiles was spitting blood, the weight of his wounds pulling him towards the ground. The blade was ripped out of him once more and Stiles fell on his side. Carlos’ boots came into view and he squatted down, the blade shining as it dripped red on the snow. 

“Too slow, monstruo, slow like a snail,” Carlos tutted at him. “You’re just too slow.” Putting the tip of the blade against Stiles’ ear he began to twist, all the while talking while Stiles writhed under its sharp pain. “Too slow to evade Brine, too slow to figure out the fae’s plan, too slow to save your wolf, too slow to save yourself. You’re. Just. Too. Slow.”

The blade punched through Stiles’ eardrum into his brain and he screamed.

His hands came down on the ground near his head and Stiles sat up fast, coughing and shooting terrified looks around the grove. There were no hunters, the snow was clear of footprints and when he patted himself down frantically there was no blood, no wounds.

“Oh, God,” Stiles whined, his breathing shallow and harsh.

“Not your god,” Stefanie said, punching Stiles in the neck.

He fell backwards, wheezing, and Stefanie was already there, holding his leg with a hand that weighed a thousand tones. She smiled a nasty smile and looked up at the Tree. Stiles followed her gaze and watched as the Tree started to grow. 

The creaking branches swelled, blocking the sky and casting a shadow over the entire grove. Stiles could feel the roots stretching underneath the ground, tainted magic swarming over the preserve, going farther as the roots broke from the earth, flapping huge arm-like protrusions in the air as if searching for something. 

One came down near Stiles, the ground shaking with its impact and he found Stefanie had morphed into the Tree, becoming something other than herself, the hand holding him down now a root that pulled and sucked at him, dragging him under the earth while he scrambled and tried to stay above.

“No! NO!” he screamed as he was pulled under, dirt closing over him, holding him tight and choking him as the tainted magic edged into his pores, sucking him dry and crystalizing his flesh into pure energy which the Tree then scattered through the earth, sending Stiles into every part of it, making him no more.

***

Stiles shot up off the bed, heaving in huge gasps or air but still feeling as if he was suffocating. Derek had a hold of him and Stiles fought off his arms, still too caught up in the dream. “No!” he cried out, kicking backwards and almost falling off the bed.

Derek caught him and pulled him back, making Stiles thrash harder as he was pinned by Derek’s body. “Stiles! Wake up! You’re safe, you’re okay! Breathe!”

The fight in him disappeared like a switch had been flipped, and Stiles started to cry.

Derek shuffled off him, turning Stiles into his chest and holding him gently while making soothing noises. “You’re okay, Stiles. You’re here with me and you’re okay.”

The tears eventually stopped, leaving Stiles wrung out, yet weirdly hyper at the same time. His brain was back to its buzzing of before but his body felt like he’d been swimming upstream for hours. Every second breath came with a shudder and he dreaded the thought of closing his eyes, instead focussing on Derek’s chest which he was pressed up against.

“Bad dream?” Derek asked, letting up on his hold and giving Stiles a little bit of space.

Stiles’ eyes flicked around the room and he swallowed, feeling parched.

A hand was brushed across his forehead and then laid down on his claim scar, Derek’s feelings of love and calm washing over Stiles in a blanketing wave that almost drowned out the dream’s lingering fear. 

Thinking of the dream, Stiles struggled to sit up, Derek helping him get comfortable against the head board then sitting close by his side.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Stiles shook his head. He didn’t even want to think about it. What he need to do was something other than sleep or sit around. He needed to get out, move, use the restless energy crowding in his brain. He got up, Derek making an aborted move to hold him back. “I’m going to take a shower,” he croaked.

“Do you need me with you?” 

Stiles finally took a good look at Derek. He was wide awake but obviously still tired. “No, it’s okay.” When Derek’s face fell deeper into worry, Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing. “Unless … do you think … maybe you should?” Not very articulate, but it got the point across. Deferring to Derek’s judgement, which was so much better than Stiles’, was one way of making sure he wasn’t making any more bad decisions.

Derek slipped off the bed and joined Stiles in walking down the hallway. “I can stay in the room while you shower or we can shower together,” he offered, all comfort with no sexual innuendo.

“Whatever you think’s best.”

Derek stopped Stiles from turning on the water in the shower. Looking him over, his frown deepened even further. Stiles reached out a hand and pushed on one eyebrow. Alarm crossed Derek’s face and he cupped the back of Stiles’ head, pulling him into a hug.

Stiles went willingly enough but he kept his eyes open, not trusting the dream not to come back.

***

Pushing open the door to Cue’s hospital room, Stiles told Derek, “You didn’t need to come if you didn’t want to. I could do this on my own.”

“Do we really need to talk about this again?” Derek grumbled, going to stand by the bed.

Stiles shut the door behind them. It was still night, visitor’s hours were definitely over, and although they were under illusions and unable to be seen or heard, they didn’t need some nurse bustling in on them. 

With the door shut, the room was shades of darkness; the bed a rectangle blacker then the walls, allowing it to stand out slightly. Using his fae sight, Stiles joined Derek at Cue’s side.

“Explain to me why we’re here and not back home, asleep in bed,” Derek demanded quietly.

Stiles had been putting off explaining what he’d done to Cue and what he wanted to do. The reasons were entirely self-serving and he knew Derek was going to be disappointed. It was why he’d tried to do this on his own. But even with Ramona out of commission, Derek hadn’t wanted him out of his sight, something Stiles hadn’t really wanted to argue against even though it was going to end badly.

“Stiles, just tell me already.”

“Fine.” Stiles sighed. “Cue’s asleep because I wanted him to be.”

“I thought so.”

Stiles turned to Derek. “You did?”

Derek shrugged. “It was pretty convenient, him being asleep.”

“Convenient for me,” Stiles added.

“It didn’t worry me,” Derek let him know. “I knew Cue would be fine under your care.”

“I put him in a magical coma and you were okay with it?” 

“Why are you acting like I’ve done something you didn’t want me to?” Derek asked, confused and slightly defensive. “Isn’t it better I understand what was happening rather than giving you a hard time about it?”

Stumped, Stiles opened his mouth then closed it. He’d been so sure he was about to get in trouble.

“Why wake him now?” Derek continued. “Does this have something to do with the nightmare you had?”

“Umm …” Not even completely sure himself, Stiles tried to explain. “It just feels like I need to wake him right now, not later, not tomorrow. Now.” The feeling had come over him as he’d showered, getting stronger and stronger until he’d had to go to the hospital. “That’s all there is to it, Der.”

“I doubt that, but wake him up and we’ll go from there.”

Taking a moment, Stiles let his magic flow, getting a feel for what he had to do. It was a simple thing in essence: strip Cue of the magic holding him in stasis sleep and he’d wake up. Touching Cue’s foot through the bed sheet, Stiles connected with the magic he’d left on the boy. It merged with him, flowing back to where it should be, leaving Cue whole and free. 

Derek put his arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “I felt that,” he said quietly. “Your magic is really something.”

Cue started to stir, the monitors keeping time with his heart, beeping steadily in the echo of the room. His eyes opened and he squinted into the dark. Seeing shadowy figures at the foot of his bed had the heart monitor speeding up. “Wha …?”

“It’s okay, Cue, it’s just, just us,” Stiles told him, something about seeing the kid awake making him fumble his words. 

“Stiles?” Cue looked around, a frown crossing his face. 

Stiles squeezed his foot. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been asleep for a bit but you’re awake now and everything’s fine.” 

Cue was still taking in the dark room. “Where … am I?”

“Hospital. You’re okay,” Stiles added when Cue sucked in a breath. “When I got you out of the Tree, you stayed asleep.” Derek shifted slightly and Stiles amended his words. “I kept you asleep. But you’re awake now.”

Cue opened his mouth slowly then winced. 

From his jacket pocket, Stiles pulled out the bottle of water he’d brought with him, knowing what it was like to have a throat that hadn’t spoken in a while. Then he pulled the visitor’s chair up beside the bed, turning on the small dim light above the bed.

As soon as he could see properly, Cue grabbed for Stiles’ hand. Something tight in Stiles’ chest cut loose at the gesture, a feeling of surety taking root. He’d done the right thing here. “Do you remember getting shot?” he asked without preamble. Nothing was worse than waking up in hospital and having people pussy-footing around what got you there in the first place.

Cue’s frown turned into one of remembering and he nodded his head, a squeak coming from his mouth and then a cough. Stiles handed him the water bottle, making sure Cue didn’t drink too much.

Working his mouth a few times, Cue managed to say, “You saved me. I knew you would.” He didn’t waver in his utter assuredness that this was what had happened. “The Tree,” he added, wonder in his tone, “I can feel it.” Pressing a hand against his chest, he exclaimed, “It’s in me.”

“That’s what it is,” Stiles realized with slight shock. “That’s why I needed to come here.” Touching Cue’s shoulder, the feeling of being in the right place only grew. “You’re part of the Tree.”

“Should he be?” Derek came to stand close, frowning at Cue and Stiles. “Did you know that would happen?”

Stiles shook his head while shrugging. “What can you feel?” he asked Cue.

Cue took his time answering. “It’s like the Tree is here with me. I can feel it … inside? I can’t really explain it.”

“This is so weird,” Stiles commented, sharing a look with Derek through the shadows of the room. 

Before they could discuss it further the door opened, light spilling in from the hallway as a nurse came in. 

“Cotter, you’re awake?” the nurse asked, surprised, and not seeing Stiles or Derek as they moved back against the wall. The nurse checked Cue over, asking a few questions which he answered in between staring at Stiles in confusion. 

When the nurse left, saying she’d be back shortly, Cue said wondrously, “She couldn’t see you.”

“But you can,” Derek said, pointing out something Stiles should have worked out as soon as Cue woke up.

“Why can I see you if she can’t?” Cue was still looking just at Stiles. 

Giving Derek another look, Stiles asked, “Who can you see?”

“You. Seriously, Stiles, you’re being weirder than normal, which is saying something.”

After another shared look, Derek walked closer and leant over into Cue’s view. “Can you see me?” 

Cue didn’t react.

“He can’t,” Stiles said.

“He can’t what? Stiles, man, you’re creeping me out,” Cue complained. 

When Stiles dropped his illusions and Derek became visible right in front of him, Cue jumped. “Holy shit! Where’d you come from?!”

“You ever had anyone see through your illusions before?” Derek asked Stiles, ignoring Cue.

“No,” Stiles replied. “Wait, once. A child. I just thought it was an innocence thing.”

“Deaton would be the one to ask about this,” Derek suggested. 

Stiles gave him an annoyed look. “I still don’t like him, I hope you realize.” 

“I’m well aware.”

“Guys?” Cue’s expression had darkened. “Not that this isn’t just thrilling, but … Community Services.” He said it as if that explained everything he was thinking.

“Don’t worry about them or your carers,” Derek replied, guessing where Cue’s mind was at. “Noah has it all sorted. Everyone’s up to date on how he found you sick with the flu and brought you to the hospital.”

Cue’s eyebrows raised and he gave both of them an incredulous look.

Stiles snorted. “I know, people believe the most stupid things.”

There were murmurs outside the door causing Stiles to wrap Derek and himself back up in illusions just as the nurse and a doctor came in the room.

“Weirdest thing,” Cue mumbled, staring straight at Stiles then at where Derek had disappeared. 

Stiles waved a hand in goodbye. Edging around the medical staff, he and Derek left the room, Cue complaining loudly that he’d like to eat something because he was starving.

“They’re going to get sick of him real quick,” Derek commented, walking towards the outside exit.

“Der, wait,” Stiles called, attention caught by one of the signs on the wall.

Derek followed his gaze. “No, Stiles, just let it go.”

“I think I need to see her for myself,” Stiles explained. “I need to know she’s not going to just show up and hurt us again.”

Derek’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. “Fair enough. Let’s go.” He led the way to the burns ward.

***

Stiles had thought he was over being concerned about what Ramona could do to him, he’d told Derek as much, but it turned out seeing her sleeping off painkillers, her face and one arm bandaged up, did nothing to ease the dread in his stomach. 

“She can’t hurt us,” Derek said, standing close enough his breath tickled Stiles’ neck.

“Mmm,” Stiles replied, not disputing the statement but not completely sure of it, either.

“Really, Stiles, she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Look at her.” Derek went closer and poked Ramona with a clawed finger. The fact there was a claw diminished the point he was trying to make as it showed Derek was at least slightly unnerved too, but Stiles was gracious enough not to point that out. 

As he stared at Ramona, Stiles felt his anger stirring. It was different than when he was under the fae’s influence, rising slow and true rather than fast and blindingly hot. The longer he stood there, the more Stiles wanted to hurt someone; to take the hurt he felt and put it on the outside, onto someone else. Why not Ramona? The bitch had tried to take Derek from him. If anyone deserved to die, it was her. Why not do the simple, logical thing and remove the threat she posed while she was indisposed?

“I think we should go now,” Derek observed, touching Stiles’ arm. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Stiles decided. “I think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Stiles, don’t do anything rash.”

“It’s not rash. If I were to do something, it would be something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Using a bit of force, Derek turned Stiles around so his back was to the bed. “Don’t go there. You’ve just come back from that place, you don’t want to go there again.”

“Who said I left?” Stiles asked without a hint of sarcasm. “It’s everyone else who thinks I’ve done some drastic turn around. I’m still the same, only less prone to spontaneous bouts of rage. Lydia even said so. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the fae mucking with my memories changed who I am.”

“I don’t,” Derek said. “I know who you are. I know exactly what you’re capable of and I also know that right now you’re trying to psych yourself up to do something you don’t really want to. I’m asking you to back down, to think things through with me, away from here.”

“She should be killed,” Stiles said flatly. “She’s going to wake up and come for me, for us, or get someone else to do it for her. She’s not going to stop.”

“Probably not,” Derek agreed. “But you shouldn’t be the one to stop her.”

“I stopped Brine.”

“And it’s still eating you up inside.”

Stiles scoffed. “No, it really isn’t.”

“Agree to disagree,” Derek said, shoving Stiles’ own words back at him. “Trust me on this.”

Stiles glared, first at Derek then at Ramona. 

“Stiles, now,” Derek ordered, shoving him backwards.

Stiles let himself be led out of the room, leaving Ramona still breathing. While there was some definite relief in the choice being made for him, he took comfort knowing he could always come back.

***

During the drive to the cabin, Stiles was a quiet passenger.

“What, no comment on how you’re wearing your knees on your ears?” Derek tried to joke. 

It fell flat and Stiles didn’t try to smile. “You’re getting a new car soon, right? So I don’t need to complain anymore.” 

His mind was on other things. After his anger had dwindled enough that he could think of something other than Ramona, he’d come back to the most important issue: the Nemeton and why Cue was still connected to it.

“You’re not getting any sleep tonight, are you?” Derek seemed resigned to the fact. “What’s bothering you?”

“The Tree. I need to go see it.” It was actually the second last thing Stiles wanted to do. The last was to see the fae again. The ugly memory of his assault surfaced and Stiles squashed it ruthlessly back down as far as it would go.

“Should I drive us to the preserve?” 

Stiles gave Derek a distracted look. “Huh? Uh, no. Home, then I’ll take us there. Quicker in the long run.”

There was a quirk to Derek’s mouth, something soft showing for a split second as he eyed Stiles, but then it was gone and he nodded, all business. “Gotcha. Home. Nemeton. Then back … home?” 

Stiles noticed the significant pause but didn’t understand it. “Yeah. Then maybe afterwards I’ll be able to sleep.” He actually didn’t think sleeping was going to be an option for a while. After the Nogitsune possession, sleep had been disjointed and fairly chaotic and Stiles was pretty certain it was going the same way again. The nightmare he’d had would be the first of many.

Derek’s hand came over and gripped Stiles’ where it lay on his knee. Stiles glanced at him, but Derek was staring resolutely out the front window. Turning his hand up, Stiles laced their fingers together, smiling a little at the reassurance he was getting from their bond. He sighed, sinking down in his seat and hitting his knees on the glove compartment. 

“Ow, fuck! God damn, stupid crappy car!” 

***

When they arrived at the grove clearing, Stiles didn’t know which of them was holding the other’s hand tighter. Derek sniffed the air and listened, blue eyes shining as he turned his head, scouting, while Stiles strengthened the grove illusions and used fae sight to do his own visual check through the darkness, summing it up with a quick run-through of what the surrounding trees and earth were sensing.

“All clear,” Derek announced, Stiles nodding after a second.

“As far as I can tell, yeah, we’re good.”

Neither one of them mentioned the fact it had been entirely too easy for people to walk through Stiles’ illusions lately, nor that the fae could come and go as it pleased and neither one of them would necessarily know if it were there.

Ignoring the way his heart was beating madly, Stiles walked over to the Tree with Derek, unable to be anything other than impressed once again at how magnificent it looked now it was grown. It was huge and towered over them, the moon almost lost amongst the branches.

“It’s beautiful,” Derek observed, somehow saying exactly what Stiles needed to hear. He wanted someone to be impressed, just like him. Someone other than the fae.

Smiling, he gripped Derek’s hand tighter. “Yeah, it is.” 

Touching the bark, Stiles breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and just taking a moment to really feel the Tree now it was there in the physical plane. He hadn’t dared do it before because of everything that had been transpiring with the Summation-that-wasn’t, but the Tree needed his attention no matter what was going on.

Just like always, the Tree’s magic was smeared with a taint that made Stiles’ skin crawl. And now he was looking for it, he could see how the forced sacrifices had influenced that taint and damaged the balance he’d been trying to achieve. The fact he’d been unable to perceive it sooner showed how much the fae had been blinding him, making him see only what it wanted. Stiles couldn’t understand why the fae would risk damaging the Tree in this way. Becoming the sole beneficiary of the Nemeton’s magic seemed such a stupid thing to strive for when the whole of Beacon Hills county and beyond was put at risk.

By ignoring the tainted feel, Stiles was able to tell the Tree was otherwise fine, with life surging in every root and twig. After a moment of pointed searching, he found what he’d come to the grove for. A subtle energy with its own distinct signature was twining through a small part of the Tree. It was Cue. There wasn’t much, which was a relief, and it seemed to be doing fine, drifting along with the Tree’s own energy. The Tree didn’t seem to be bothered by Cue’s presence. It wasn’t attacking him and it wasn’t leaching life from him. They were just together. 

While there was relief that Cue wasn’t about to be sucked back into the Tree, their closeness was unsettling and Stiles didn’t like it. He poked at Cue’s energy signature and it wriggled, a tingling feeling emanating from it like Cue had tried to slap him away. Stiles frowned and went deeper into the Tree, trying to figure out if Cue’s own stubbornness may be causing him to remain tied to it.

Derek sucked in a shocked breath beside him. “God, that’s intense.”

Opening his eyes, Stiles noticed Derek wobbling on his feet. Realizing he’d allowed their bond to pull Derek into the Tree with him, Stiles shut the connection down fast, letting go of Derek’s hand. “Shit, Derek. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Derek nodded a little, frowning and blinking wide. “Was that the Nemeton?”

“Sorry about that.” Stiles risked touching Derek’s arm once before withdrawing. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s good that your first reaction wasn’t to shut me out,” Derek said. “I just didn’t know how strong it was. Stupid of me when I know it’s a magical being, but I guess it’s easy to ignore when you’re not connected to it all the time.” He gave Stiles a considering look. “You are though.”

“I am what?” Stiles was stuck on the fact Derek was talking about the Tree without disgust. No one ever had anything good to say about it.

“You’re connected to it,” Derek tilted his chin at the Tree, “twenty-four seven. All the time. Just that little bit was enough to almost knock me over. How do you do it?” He looked at Stiles with an expression bordering on disbelief.

Stiles rubbed at one shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m part of it, so it’s just what it is, I guess.” He was used to being connected to the Tree and could barely remember what it felt like to be on his own. He breathed and lived because the Tree made it so.

“You’re amazing,” Derek announced, taking Stiles into a hug and holding him for a long moment.

Not that Stiles didn’t love being held by Derek but the sentiment seemed rather odd. “You okay?” he asked, patting Derek on the back and getting a tighter squeeze in response.

“Yeah.” Derek let Stiles go and stepped back. “Guess I just needed a reminder.”

“About what?”

Derek eyed the Nemeton then shook his head. “Everything,” he replied obliquely. 

Stiles scratched absently at an eyebrow, hoping he wasn’t supposed to understand and trying not to let his unease show. He was confused enough as it was, he didn’t need Derek becoming a puzzle to him.

“Have you worked out why Cue’s still a part of the Tree?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “This was a waste of time. I’m sorry.”

Derek took his hand again. “I wouldn’t say that. You needed to come, so we came. Do you feel better?”

Stiles took a moment. The restless energy he’d been feeling seemed to have left, leaving only a lethargy that, now he’d noticed it, caused him to yawn. Putting a hand up to his mouth, he nodded. “Yeah, I do feel better. How’d you know?”

Derek tapped his nose, then his heart, while giving Stiles an ‘Are you kidding?’ look. 

Stiles felt a bit sheepish for forgetting who he was asking. Another yawn had him closing his eyes. 

Pulling him close, Derek scented Stiles along his neck, mumbling, “Take us home then, Jeeves.”

Stiles pulled back, delighted. “Oh, my God, you are the scone to my English breakfast!”

“Please don’t,” Derek groaned.

“The butter to my buttie!” Stiles laughed, and leaped them back to the cabin with only half a thought.

“Enough!” Derek released Stiles and turned to go up the steps, but not before Stiles had seen the amused glint to his eye and the up-turn of his mouth.

About to follow and keep annoying with his admittedly very limited range of English-themed word puns, Stiles stopped. Looking up at the night sky, he said out loud, “Holy crap.”

Derek was back at his side in an instant. “What? What is it?” He scanned the cabin roof as if he expected to see someone on it. 

“I brought us back here,” Stiles said. “At night.” To Derek’s blank look, he explained, “I’ve never been able to do that before. Only to the Nemeton, never from.” Quickly, he dropped his glamor, checking his hands and arms, looking for any sign of the cloud formations having come back. He’d learnt how to master light while his skin was cloudy, so maybe this was something similar.

Derek reached out and took a hold of his forearm which was clear and normal-looking. “You’re okay,” he reassured, somehow yet again, guessing Stiles’ thoughts. “It’s just you. Werewolves go through changes too, it doesn’t have to mean anything bad.”

Never having seen the fae-puberty as a bad thing, Stiles re-evaluated it. What if it had been another of the fae’s lies? What if … what if the fae had done it to him for some strange reason? What if that reason was still happening even thought his skin was back to normal?

“Hey, hey, look at me, Stiles,” Derek ordered, cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. “Breathe slower, deep, in and out, with me, okay?”

Stiles rubbed at his mouth with a hand but nodded, taking a breath and following Derek’s lead. As his breathing evened out, he leant his head forward, resting his forehead on Derek’s. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Don’t you get tired running after me and picking up the pieces? All the shit that happens because of me?”

“It doesn’t happen because of you,” Derek said angrily. “Get that out of your head right now. And it doesn’t just happen to you either. It happens to both of us.”

“I noticed you didn’t say it doesn’t get tiring,” Stiles half-joked.

“Because it does,” Derek admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t want all this ‘shit’ to stop. But it’s our life, Stiles, so we deal with it.”

Stiles knew he couldn’t have gotten a better partner than the man who stood in front of him, but it was moments like this that made it so much more apparent. “Because it is, as it is,” he said. 

Derek nodded. “Because it is, as it is.”

***

Trying to stay awake only worked for so long. When he was younger, because at eighteen he was so very old, Stiles could stay awake for days at a time. His ADHD helped, and during his possession he'd been getting up there in hours, but now it seemed sleep was the thing he couldn’t fight. Much as he wanted to.

Jerking awake screaming was not on his list of highlights. Neither was watching the new stress lines appear around Derek’s eyes as he held Stiles while he came down from another nightmare. This was the forth one in as many hours and Stiles was so done. It was the middle of the night, a whole day having passed since he’d woken Cue up, but it felt as if time was starting to stretch, hours becoming weeks. It was a continual-nightmare-having side-effect he was familiar with and he tried not to dwell on how bad it may become. Last time, post-possession, he’d ended up on some pretty heavy medications. He didn’t want to go there again.

“What was this one?” Derek asked softly, pushing back Stiles’ hair from his forehead where it stuck limply. 

“Can’t remember,” Stiles lied, knowing Derek could tell. This one had been about the fae’s molestation and at no point in the future could Stiles see himself talking about it.

“It may help to talk,” Derek pointed out reasonably, yet again thinking along the same lines as Stiles but with a different outcome in mind.

Stiles shook his head and Derek let him go as he got out of bed. Feeling sticky and gross because he’d sweated through the night terrors, another shower was required, but even that seemed like it would require too much effort. Standing still, Stiles couldn’t make his feet move. Derek came up behind him and hugged him gently. A small measure of comfort seeped into Stiles, enough that he sighed and unclenched his hands where they’d balled into fists by his sides.

“Do you need to go out?” Derek asked, probably feeling through the claim how the walls were starting to press in.

Stiles nodded.

Derek didn’t ask if he should come along and Stiles didn’t tell him otherwise, so Derek just led him down the hallway and out the front door. As soon as the night air hit Stiles’ skin he breathed deeply, tipping his face up to the sky as he stepped down off the porch steps.

“Better?”

Stiles nodded once more, giving a crooked tilt to his lips in a parody of a smile he didn’t feel. 

Derek sighed. “I know it isn’t the best timing, but your dad needs to talk to you.”

Turning his face up to the sky once more, Stiles picked out one star and focused on it, watching the twinkle as its light interacted with the earth’s atmosphere. He still wanted to clean himself up but maybe he’d go down to the river and try out some sun-melting on the ice when the morning came. He could probably heat the water a bit too, enough for Derek to join him. 

A hand on his shoulder had him turning his head to look Derek in the eyes. “He’s been to see Cue and everything’s fine,” Derek said. “But there’s some police stuff you should know about that he wants to tell you in person.”

Flexing his jaw, Stiles looked away. “And you think I should talk to him about whatever it is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Okay.” Stiles sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “If you think so.”

***

Mid-morning saw Stiles sitting with his back to a tree, a little distance from the river, trying to stay awake. He’d given up on the idea of swimming in the frozen water after Derek had vetoed it, but his wolf had given him some space in order to have a talk with his dad.

His head nodded forward as his eyes shut and Stiles jerked back, blinking his eyes wide and rolling his head on his shoulders. Getting up and walking around would help to keep him awake, yet he made no move to do so.

A crunching in the snow alerted him to not being alone anymore. With a quirk of his lips, he found the sight of his dad sliding down the hill to where he was slightly amusing in a would-chuckle-if-he-had-the-energy kind of way. There was a beat of silence as his dad took a good look at him. Stiles knew Derek would have brought him up to speed on the nightmares so he didn’t try to hide how tired he was. 

His dad held a picnic blanket in one arm and a more snuggly one in the other. Curtesy of Derek, Stiles was sure, and it brought another small smile to his mouth. He got up onto his knees and took the picnic blanket from his dad, spreading it out so they could both sit leaning against the tree. It said something that Derek and his dad knew he’d prefer to be outside right now. 

He and his dad shared a few looks as they got comfortable, his dad wrapping the comfy blanket around Stiles’ shoulders, letting his own Sheriff’s jacket protect him from the cold. Stiles didn’t need the blanket, they both knew it, but the gesture warmed Stiles as he fisted his hands in its softness.

They still hadn’t said a word to each other but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Without thinking, Stiles leant against his dad’s side, his dad putting an arm around his shoulders. They sat there in silence, the sunlight casting shadows through the tree’s branches. When Stiles’ eyes started dropping shut, he didn’t fight it. Breathing in his dad’s aftershave, he drifted off into sleep.

It felt like only a few minutes passed before his dad was shaking him awake. Stiles’ heart was going a mile a minute and fear had put a fist in his throat. This time he had only a vague memory of blood to take with him, but it was enough to have Stiles blinking wide and dropping the blanket from around his shoulders.

His dad kept a close eye on him as he got his breathing under control. “Derek said the nightmares were back.”

“Yeah,” Stiles coughed, throat feeling raw enough that he had to have been screaming before his dad woke him up. “Different cause, same result.”

“Would medications work like last time?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, shrugging. “They may have no effect.” 

They lapsed into silence again, his dad looking thoughtful but not put-out by the answer. It was liberating for Stiles to be able to talk to his dad instead of shutting him out. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

“Hey,” his dad said, getting Stiles to look up from where he’d been frowning at his hands. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve dealt with this before and got through it.”

Stiles didn’t point out that this situation was vastly different from being possessed in some very poignant ways, not the least being that he hadn’t been a meat-puppet this time round, at least not in the same way as before, so blame wasn’t as easy to absolve. 

“You wanted to speak to me about something?” he asked, not wanting to deal with it, whatever it was, but keeping in mind that Derek had said it was a good idea.

“Stefanie Meahn,” his dad said. “I just wanted to let you know you’re safe. There’s nothing tying you to her.”

With everything he’d been trying to deal with or ignore, the idea of being arrested for Stefanie’s death hadn’t even come up for Stiles. It did now, and he found it both scary and implausible because it was only something that happened to other people. “But the bow and arrows?” he asked, unable to grasp how such evidence had become unimportant.

Shrugging mildly, his dad waved off Stiles’ concern. “Seems there were no viable prints to be gotten from the arrow found with Stefanie. The prints on the bow and other arrows are all explained. Any other trace evidence was contaminated through bad procedure, something that we try to avoid but it does happen from time to time.”

Stiles stared at his dad, the truth finally hitting him. “You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

His dad shook his head, expression darkening into something protective. “You didn’t do it, not really. And we’ve had this conversation before. I will do anything to keep you safe, especially when it’s not your fault. I just wanted you to know that no one’s looking your way.”

Stiles couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “Argent is.”

A glint entered his dad’s eyes. “Argent’s counted as an unreliable source. Certain illegal liberties he’s taken over the years have come to light and the last I heard, he’s taken off down to Mexico. I doubt we’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”

“You discredited Argent for me?” Stiles was slightly gobsmacked. That Argent’s less-than-legal enterprises had come to light right at the the most opportune time couldn’t be coincidence.

“He discredited himself.”

Through the overwhelming rush of warmth Stiles felt for his dad, something niggled at him. “You said Argent went where?”

“Mexico. Why, is there something important about that?”

“No,” Stiles said, trying not to bite his bottom lip. Mexico. Where the Calaveras were. 

“If there is, you should tell me.”

“Nothing I can think of.” Stiles leant in and hugged his dad before he could see the lie on his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

His dad rubbed him on the back, holding him tight.

***

Stiles stared at the liquid medicine in its dispensary cup, doubts making his hand feel as if it held something far heavier than it did.

“It will help,” Derek said once more. “You need uninterrupted sleep.”

Stiles knew this. Three more days had passed and the nightmares were happening with a frequency that was draining them both. Just that morning he’d had a waking hallucination and had been convinced the fae was in Derek’s bedroom, along with Ramona and Brine. It had taken Derek dumping him in the shower and turning it on to wake him up enough for the visions to stop.

That had been the last straw for Derek and he’d phoned Stiles’ dad and Deaton. After some consideration, the consensus between the three had been that medication was the way to go. Stiles still didn’t want that, but he deferred to Derek’s better judgement. The fact the vile-looking concoction came from Deaton did not in anyway make Stiles feel more inclined to take it.

“He explained how it will work,” Derek said, far too calmly in Stiles’ opinion. 

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s the herbs he used to smoke me into a stupor. They’ll suppress my brain enough for me to sleep without dreaming.” He held the tiny cup up between thumb and forefinger, watching how the liquid shone with a green-brown hue as the sunlight hit it. The only consideration was there was no druid magic apparent that he could see. “Once more the guinea pig, I guess.”

Derek pulled a face. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Stiles disagreed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tipped the cup into his mouth, grimacing at the taste and quickly washing it down with the glass of water he held in his other hand.

The effect wasn’t instant but it was close. By the time Stiles was plopping himself down on the sofa, the room was fuzzy around the edges and the fireplace looked like it had lizards dancing in the grate as they burned. He felt Derek put a blanket over him and smooth his hair off his forehead. A kiss followed, and the fire-lizards shot up the chimney in swirls of smoke.

***

The dream started off innocuous as most of them did, but Stiles was a lot more lucid in this one and it was taking place in the astral current, which was new. He was standing once more in the clearing, the Nemeton soaring above him. 

“Won’t dream, my ass,” he grumbled.

“Finally, you have returned, as we knew you would,” the fae stated, standing with one hand on the Tree and staring at Stiles with burning eyes. “We have been calling and calling, but you, dear heart, have been refusing our summons.”

Stiles took a slow step backwards, then another one when the fae didn’t react. “Well, I’m here now,” he said, hoping to wake up before this dream got ugly.

“You want the truth,” the fae told him, tipping its head in its usual manner. “We have withheld much from you, it’s true. But we have also given much, as you know.”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed. 

This didn’t feel like a regular nightmare. This felt a little too real. But that was the problem with his nightmares; they were too real. But this one still felt different. Maybe it was the prickling on his skin as the astral energy travelled over it; maybe it was the way the light played in the air; maybe it was the way the fae was suddenly right up in his face; but to Stiles, this dream felt far more real than any before it.

He stumbled back, the fae catching his wrist and holding him steady, unable to get free. “I’m not dreaming,” Stiles gasped.

“No, you are not,” the fae said. “You have been dreaming, though, haven’t you. Such wild imaginations, such miss-placed guilt. Why trouble yourself with such when you can be so much more than you are?” 

“I killed people! How can I not have guilt?!” Stiles yelled. “I killed for you!”

“You killed for us and for yourself, don’t deny it,” the fae admonished him, letting go of him with a sneer. “The void is not separate from you. They could not get rid of it when they tried, could they? The feeling you get when you take a life isn’t because you have a darkness in you, it’s because it is you, it is who you are. And why should you care? You are not human. Do not use their morals to define yourself!”

Stiles shook his head, even going so far as to put his hands over his ears. The fae bared its teeth and pulled his hands away.

“We have moulded you from the beginning, our young changeling fae, for you will be great and stand with us through the long lengths of time. We want what you can become if unhindered and unfettered by ties to those lesser than we. Humans,” it spat with contempt, “shifter canines; they are all beneath us, beneath you. Why can you not see?”

Stiles swallowed, fear and unease twining their way along his spine. “My dad’s human and I love him. I love Derek. He’s my wolf. You know this.”

The fae snarled, sharp teeth entirely too close all of a sudden as its eyes flashed dangerously. “You are ours,” it refuted, “and we want.” 

It surged forward, catching Stiles’ mouth and biting hard, lips tearing at flesh as Stiles struggled. Its tongue swiped over the cuts, collecting blood and Stiles’ sudden shocked tears. 

When it moved back, Stiles spat in its face, blood spraying out in a fine mist. 

Grimacing, the fae gripped Stiles throat with one hand, pulling him up as his toes scrambled for purchase on the snowy ground. His neck strained with the pull and his head starting pounding.

“You will never have me like that!” Stiles wheezed out, fear turning to anger. 

“You think you haven’t given us this, more than once? Been happy to?” the fae taunted.

Stiles felt cold and sick as the implication settled over him. His hands tore at the fae’s forearms with no effect. He couldn’t remember a time, but what if he hadn’t been given back everything that had been taken? “No. Never!”

“Because you can’t remember doing so?” the fae snickered, its condescension so thick as to make Stiles recoil where he hung. “Are you so sure you are not ours in all ways?”

“I am sure, you bastard!” Stiles yelled, getting in one good breath. He kneed the fae in the groin, for all the good it did, as the fae didn’t even blink and it felt to Stiles as if he’d whacked his bone into a wall of concrete.

“Calm yourself, young one,” the fae intoned, one hand coming up to stroke across Stiles’ eyebrows. “You are correct. You are not ours completely, not yet. You are not ready. But given time, you shall be.”

Stiles wrenched his face away, the fae letting him go. He slipped on the snow, righting himself before yelling, “I’ve told you before, I’ll always choose Derek! Never you, because you’re not him!”

The fae’s left eye twitched as if Stiles had managed to land an actual blow. 

Stiles pressed on while he had advantage. “It doesn’t matter how much time passes, you’ll never be the one I want. I love Derek, I will always love Derek!”

The fae’s lips quirked the smallest amount. “We have seen love crumble into nothing. Time turns mountains into valleys, people into monsters. Humans will always hurt those who are different from them.”

Clarity hit Stiles hard. “Is that what happened to you? You got hurt and now everyone suffers? Are you kidding me?! That’s the oldest trope in the history of tropes!”

“Do not think to understand us, young changeling,” the fae rebuked, narrowing its eyes. “We are older than the rivers that run through this county, our heart’s sorrow is no petty thing.”

“Oh, get over yourself!” Stiles seethed at it. He clenched his fists and wished to leave the astral plane.

The fae tilted its head, giving Stiles a pitying smile. “Dousing yourself with druid herbs was not your best idea if it is a quick exit you desire.” 

It started to advance on Stiles again and this time, Stiles couldn’t back away, his feet remaining stuck to the ground. The fae tipped his chin up with hard fingers and its mouth hovered much too close, causing bile to rise up in Stiles’ throat. 

“We overstepped, we see this now. We push too hard, too fast, but it is because we want you so very much. We have let your memories go, but we will not loose you.” It shook it head. “No, we will not.”

The fae’s cold unyielding lips pressed against Stiles and he gagged, the revulsion so thick he managed to wrench himself slightly free from the fae’s grip.

The fae released Stiles from its magic and he stumbled back. “Stop it, stop it,” he begged. “Please, no.” 

The fae physically grabbed him once more, twisting his arm to an uncomfortable angle when Stiles tried to get away. “We will not harm you.”

Stiles dangled from the fae’s grip. “What do you think you’re doing right now??”

“You feel we can not be trusted, you do not want to be near us in case we ‘hurt’ you again,” the fae said, unmoved by Stiles’ distress. “You are cruel in your assumptions and we will show you how wrong they are. The hurt you feel is because you do not yet see the whole picture. When you do, you shall come back to us.” The fae ran a finger down Stiles’ cheek. “We will always be with you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.” The finger with its hard nail came to rest on the middle of Stiles’ chest. “You will never be alone.”

The horror of that statement was too much for Stiles. He pulled with all his strength against the fae’s grasping hand and pushed at the same time with his mind, screaming at himself to wake. the. Fuck. UP!

The astral plane jolted strangely, twisting along its axis. 

Stiles sat up on the sofa with a shout that was more scream than anything else, only Derek’s arms around him stopping him from launching himself clear across the rug into the fireplace with the adrenaline that was coursing through his body.

“Stiles! Stiles!” Derek called, trying to hold him still as he thrashed on autopilot and fought Derek’s touch, still yelling and staring around wildly, trying to find the fae. “Wake up! It’s okay, you’re okay! You’re home, you’re safe! Stiles, please, please, wake up!”

It was the desperation in Derek’s voice that got through to him and Stiles slumped in Derek’s arms, the terror draining away, leaving him feeling even more exhausted than before. 

Derek whispered soothing noises, holding him close and placing gentle kisses to the top of his head as Stiles found himself unable to stop chanting, “I’m sorry,” over and over again.

“It’s okay, shhh, Stiles, it’s okay. You’re fine. We’re fine. Shhh.” Derek started a slight rocking motion, kissing Stiles’ neck.

“Please,” Stiles begged, tipping his head, hoping Derek understood. When blunt teeth bit down on his claiming scar, Stiles keened, pushing up, wanting those teeth deeper, wanting fangs. “Please.”

“Shhh,” Derek mumbled. “Shhh.” He bit down harder, but not with fangs, and held on. 

Stiles’ nerves lit up as the claim came alive and he was flooded with Derek. All Derek’s love rushed through Stiles, taking away his anxiety and finally allowing him to relax. “I’m sorry,” he whispered one last time, closing his eyes. 

The herbs in his system were still working and with Derek’s teeth on his neck, Stiles fell back under their spell, slipping down into sleep, this time without dreams.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this 'Jeeves' Derek speaks of, you ask? (Probably not, but humor me.)
> 
> Why, he is a fictional character called Reginald Jeeves. A London Valet, he appeared in several comedic short stories written by the author P.G. Wodehouse, which spanned 60 years.
> 
> Now you know. Because you really wanted to.
> 
> (I just like the idea that Derek's parents were educated in English literature and Derek used to read the books they had in their library. Hence his reference. How Stiles knows who Jeeves is, I'm blaming on Google. Because it's normally Google's fault where Stiles is concerned.)


	20. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No time to heal all wounds.

Stretching as he woke, Stiles was a bit discombobulated to find himself facing the front of Derek’s cabin. He was still on the sofa but it had been turned at some point, angled towards the windows. He guessed it was so he could soak up the sun’s light which was warming him in a most delightful way. He stretched some more, feeling joints pop and muscles relax.

He felt good. Really good. Better than he had in quite a while. Looking out the windows at the sky above the trees, he watched the fluffy white clouds scoot across the very blue expanse of day.

Noises in the kitchen got him moving finally and he sat up, looking over the edge of the sofa and quietly watching Derek puttering around. It was only a few seconds before Derek became aware he was being watched and shot Stiles a startled but delighted grin.

“You’re awake!”

Stiles had to stifle a laugh at the way Derek bounded over to him like an overjoyed puppy because he could feel a considerable amount of relief through the claim and wondered just how long he’d been asleep if Derek was this happy to see him up.

Their hug was long and heartfelt on both sides. 

When Derek let go enough for Stiles to be able to look him in the eye, Stiles asked, “Just how long was I asleep?” 

Some of Derek’s joy died, a shadow passing across his face. “Two days.” It was plain to see how that time had affected him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. It was Deaton’s.” Derek’s expression darkened even more. There was a story there, but before Stiles could ask what had happened, Derek added, “Stiles,” in a breathy manner and then he was being kissed like Derek would love to do nothing else for the rest of his life.

A fleeting thought of bad breath crossed Stiles’ mind but he recalled how he hadn’t cared when Derek had finally woken up and how badly he’d needed to be as close as possible to his wolf, so he kissed back just as fiercely and pulled Derek down.

Derek kept murmuring his name as he kissed across Stiles’ face, hands gently cupping jaw and head, cradling him. Stiles breathed out shakily, pushing love-love-love through the claim and feeling how desperately Derek drank it up as he nipped along his neck, straying over the claim mark. Stiles could feel the change as Derek grew facial fur and fangs, and his skin tingled with anticipation. This is what he’d wanted before, what he still wanted.

“Oh, God, do it, Der, do it,” he encouraged, dropping his glamor and feeling the sharp points of his fae teeth catching against his own lips. 

He angled his head, giving Derek more room, and pulled himself up, latching his mouth against the claiming scar nestled between Derek’s neck and shoulder. Derek’s moan reverberated into Stiles’ body, followed by a very possessive growl that melted Stiles into the sofa. When fangs pierced his scar, he reciprocated, biting as hard as he could into Derek’s skin, feeling and hearing the pop as his fae teeth brought forth blood.

How long they stayed pinned together, Stiles couldn’t tell. He was floating in the claiming bond, blissed out, completely surrounded and flooded with awareness of Derek. His wolf was everywhere, a fiercely protective warmth that felt as if it were actually inside his DNA.

Derek slowly withdrew his fangs and Stiles let his glamor blunt his own teeth. Lying there, with Derek on top of him, feeling ever so much more relaxed than he had in ages, Stiles smiled up at the cabin ceiling, slowly stroking Derek’s back through his shirt and running one ankle up Derek’s leg. 

“That has to win for best way to celebrate after a prolonged sleep.”

Derek pushed himself up enough to smile down at Stiles. “I missed you.”

“I got that,” Stiles replied, smiling back at him. He ran a hand through Derek’s hair. “You were worried, huh?” he said gently, not really needing an answer. “It’s okay, I’m awake now. And I feel really good.”

“Yeah?” Derek slid off to the side, letting Stiles breathe a little easier. 

“Yeah, I feel …” Stiles took the time to think of how to answer. “I feel calm. And awake, like, really awake. I’m not tired anymore.”

“You look better,” Derek said, their noses brushing together. “The circles under your eyes are gone.”

“Am I back to being pretty?” Stiles teased.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek told him, kissing him again.

Things started to get heated, both of them squirming closer to each other, hands running up under shirts and down pants, when a knock at the door interrupted them. Derek shot it an irritated look which quickly morphed into one of worry.

“Who is it?” Stiles grumbled, sitting up and letting Derek go. He wasn’t impressed. The world had obviously decided it couldn’t let him feel too good all at once because that would break some kind of cosmic law.

Pausing before going to open the door, Derek answered, “It’s Deaton.”

***

It was with some apprehension that Stiles watched Deaton sit down at the circular table in the library area. Stiles was leaning against the back of the sofa, far enough away that he wasn’t within touching distance. The space was more for himself than anyone else; mistrust and dislike still the two main ingredients he felt for the druid. The big difference, now he was thinking clearly, was guilt had taken the place of his unstoppable anger. But Stiles wasn’t going to dwell on that.

Derek handed Deaton a tea, cementing the fact they were there for the long haul.

After taking a sip from his mug, Deaton gave Stiles a long evaluating look. “You seem to be doing better than when I saw you last. I’m glad.”

Stiles made some kind of noise, part word and part grunt, not trusting himself to speak. It was far more difficult to be in Deaton’s presence then it had been when the pack was around. Maybe it was because the confusion over events had dwindled a bit, but he was edgy and ready for this talk to be over.

“What was so important that you had to come here?” Derek asked, frowning at Deaton. “I told you, you’re no longer welcome.”

Stiles let out a huff of surprise, really wishing he knew what had transpired between the two of them. Deaton, on the other hand, took Derek’s attitude in stride, merely tipping his head in acknowledgement and putting his cup on the coaster Derek had provided.

“It’s good that the past few days have seen you resting, Stiles,” Deaton said. “Because until the Tree is fully healed and balance is restored, you won’t ever feel entirely well.”

“What?” Derek snapped. 

“He’s connected to the Tree,” Deaton replied. “Its health is his health. It stands to reason that as it heals, so does Stiles.”

“Did it make him sick in the first place?”

“There’s many factors that have contributed to Stiles’ health being the way it is, not just the Tree. But as soon as we heal it, Stiles should feel a hundred percent better, physically at least.”

“We?” Stiles scoffed.

At the same time, Derek said, “Should?”

Deaton had the grace to look apologetic. “Nothing was ever clear when Stiles was involved, Derek, you know this. I’m sure that isn’t going to change anytime soon. And yes, we. I’m here to help.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and glowered some more.

“Part of the reason I’m here is to offer assistance once more.” Deaton turned to Stiles. “You may require further help after the Tree is healed.”

That caught Stiles’ attention. “How so?”

“No one goes through trauma and comes out unscathed. Meditation could be quite beneficial when coupled with natural magic to deal with any issues.”

“Your magic?” Stiles snorted, thinking of his many ‘issues’. “Because then, no.”

“No, not mine. I’d merely be guiding you to use your own. Druids use such techniques to hone their craft and keep balance within themselves. I don’t see why we couldn’t use such teachings to help you.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles hedged. It was tempting, learning how to use his magic in an entirely new way, but while it sounded like it could help, it was Deaton offering. Looking to Derek, Stiles asked, “What do you think?”

“Would it require you spending time with Stiles, alone? Because that’s not happening,” Derek said flatly. 

“You could be in the vicinity at all times if that’s your preference,” Deaton replied. “Stiles would be the only one wielding magic, I would merely be talking him through it.”

“Fae magic is really instinctive,” Stiles pointed out. “I don’t know how I do what I do, I just do it.”

Deaton nodded. “That’s good to know. After a time we should be able to work around the shortcomings we may face.”

Derek still looked like he wanted to veto the entire idea and Stiles wasn’t entirely on board either, so he shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t promise anything.”

“The offer will remain open for any time you may wish to take me up on it,” Deaton said. “The other reason I came today was because of the druids you summoned to Beacon Hills.”

Wincing, Stiles thought of the two druids he’d managed to kill before the Summation was interrupted. Did Deaton know about them? Stiles didn’t even know what happened to their bodies after the fae took them.

“A good number of them have already left, but a few remain,” Deaton explained. “Most were happy with what I told them: a fae tried to take over the Nemeton but was stopped. They didn’t require a lot of detail, more than happy things turned out for the better and they weren’t part of a sacrifice.”

Stiles looked away, part of him taking umbrage at the term ‘for the better’. Maybe for the druids it was, but not for him.

“They believed you?” Derek was still scowling. “Seems rather too easy.”

“My reputation helped,” Deaton said mildly, without a hint of pride. “They trust Beacon Hills is well looked after.”

“They think you did it,” Stiles guessed. “They think you stopped the Summation.”

“It was the easiest way to get them to leave, though I never said it directly. They assumed and I didn’t correct them.”

Stiles had to admit to a slight awe when faced with Deaton’s duplicity. He could admire it when it wasn’t being used against him. “Good job,” he said, ignoring Derek’s look of surprise.

“Don’t thank me too much. There are two druids who remain. I mention them because one in particular had some interesting things to tell me.” Deaton gave Stiles a level look. “About you.”

“Ah.” Stiles could guess who that may be. “Rose or Rebecca?”

Deaton hummed, not surprised. “So, Rebecca was correct when she said you’d met.”

Stiles really didn’t want to go into detail. Derek was already looking at him with an unimpressed glare having worked out there was yet another thing he hadn’t been told about. Stiles scratched at one shoulder and half-shrugged. “There may have been a moment in the aspen forest.” One which he didn’t regret all that much. “What’s the big deal? Neither of them died, and they were the ones looking for things that don’t belong to them.”

“She didn’t mention that part. What things?”

“The Nemeton spheres.” Stiles smiled a little and it wasn’t very nice. “Don’t worry, they didn’t even get close.”

“I’m not worried, but you should be,” Deaton warned. “Rebecca’s partner, Rose Sullivan, is in the hospital with pneumonia. It’s not looking good. Rightly or wrongly, Rebecca blames you.”

“She can’t do anything to me,” Stiles said. 

“Are you sure?” Derek asked.

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “Her magic failed last time. If she tries something again, I’ll stop her.”

“Without harming her,” Deaton reminded him. “You promised.”

“Sure, sure,” Stiles agreed. There was a lot of leeway in that promise, more than he was willing to point out. He didn’t want to kill anyone else but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to defend himself if he had to. 

“Alright,” Deaton said, not looking entirely convinced. “The last reason for my being here is I have an idea to heal the Tree.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “And you didn’t think to lead with that? Jeez, learn how to prioritize!”

Deaton ignored his theatrics. “When I spoke to the druids, one in particular gave me some insight into the Tree being felled. It seems it was done to stop an attempt not unlike the Summation we faced: fae trying to take over the Tree. It’s believed the fae protector of that time was the main instigator.”

Looking down, Stiles bit his lip. No one else but him knew the protector of old was his fae creator, and he had no urge to enlighten them. Fae secrets were still fae secrets and should remain that way. Hearing the fae tried to take over the Tree once before, which resulted in its being cut down, answered a lot of questions as to the fae’s motivation and questionable actions.

Stiles gestured to Deaton. “So, what’s your big plan?”

“Use sacrifices to heal the Tree,” Deaton announced.

“Are you insane?” Derek said. “You know why we can’t do that!”

Deaton held up a hand. “Not killing, no. We won’t do that. Apart from being wrong, it would just put added stress on Stiles and cause the void in him to become even stronger than it is now.”

Stiles was shocked. “How do you know about that?”

“It stands to reason,” Deaton explained. “Demons gain power from their victims. The void, while not a demon itself, comes from one and is much the same but held in check by you. Give it too much strength and it could overwhelm. I’m sure you’ve had a little experience with that.”

Appreciative of the fact there didn’t seem to be a reprimand forthcoming, Stiles nodded. “A bit,” he confirmed. Prompted by some unknown reason, he added, “I can’t keep the souls I take. I mean …” the way Deaton and Derek stared at him made him stumble over his words, “… I get sick.”

“Ahh,” Deaton mused. “That’s good, it proves the void is not fully integrated with you. As long as you don’t kill anyone else, you shouldn’t have any trouble in that regard.”

Stiles blanched, knowing just how easy it would be to drop back into the dark delight that came with taking a soul.

“You’ll be okay, Stiles,” Deaton tried to reassure him. “Training in meditation will help strengthen your skill in keeping the void under control.”

“What type of sacrifices are you talking about if you don’t want Stiles killing anyone?” Derek asked.

“Willing sacrifices are different. They don’t require Stiles to kill because the person will still be alive.”

“They’ll be in the Tree … alive?” Derek looked at Stiles in alarm. Stiles knew he was thinking about Brine, but didn’t have the same worry. The man was dead, that’s all there was to it.

“No. They’ll go about their lives normally, just connected to the Tree.” Deaton sat back in his chair.

“Cue,” Derek announced. “He’s connected to the Tree.”

“Really?” Deaton said with interest. “I’ll have to do some tests but this may prove my theory. Is he alright; no complaints of fatigue or muscle atrophy?”

“He’s not your new lab rat!” Stiles snarled. “Stay away from him!”

“He won't be harmed. If it makes you feel better, you may be present at any testing.”

Stiles took a step forward. “It won’t happen!”

“Calm yourself,” Deaton advised him, waving a hand at his own eyes. “Keeping your emotions under control is of the utmost importance right now.”

Blinking his eyes back from their fae sight, Stiles continued to glare.

Derek asked, “Why’s that so important?”

“Stiles is running on limited steam. The two days of energy he’s managed to store by sleeping will soon be depleted and without another herbal dose and more subsequent rest, Stiles will find the Tree’s tainted magic wearing him down once more. High emotions burn energy faster, as does vigorous activity, so I’d advise against doing anything strenuous for now.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke when a patient’s well-being is at stake,” Deaton replied.

Stiles leant back on the sofa with weary resignation. “Great, first you tell me the void could take me over and now you’re saying I can’t have sex.”

Deaton didn’t even crack a smile. “Unless you can do it without using any energy, then yes, that’s what I’m telling you.” He stood up from the library table. “Of course, if you don’t mind taking the medicine again or feeling ill, then go ahead.”

Stiles gave him the stink eye.

“Do you still have the other doses of herbal liquid, Derek?” Deaton asked, walking towards the front door. 

Derek nodded, coming behind Deaton and opening the door for him. 

“Good. Don’t use them unless it’s entirely necessary. Timing it so Stiles can sleep for another two days may prove difficult and I don’t want them to build up in his system.”

Saying goodbye, Derek closed the door behind Deaton and leant against it.

“What about a blow job?” Stiles asked, not really expecting anything. “I could just stand here, let you do all the work.”

“This isn’t a joke, Stiles. This is your health we’re talking about.”

Groaning, Stiles tipped his head back. “This is going to suck,” he complained. “Or rather, not.”

Derek’s phone rang. 

With a look of weary resignation, Derek put it on speaker.

“Derek?” Deaton said. “It’s just occurred to me that if Rebecca and Rose were trying to find the Nemeton spheres, there may be others who will do the same thing. Stiles has to keep them safe.”

“You know,” Derek commented, “you could have said all of what you did over the phone. You didn’t need to come here.”

There was a pause before Deaton replied. “I wanted to see for myself that Stiles was okay. And to give him the opportunity to know I wasn’t lying about anything. Derek, I apologize for what occurred while he was asleep. Please know, I was looking out for him, that’s all.”

Derek hung up, pocketing his phone.

“What happened between you two?” Stiles asked, all annoyance at being cock-blocked put to the back of his mind.

Scowling, Derek sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Stiles moved closer, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist.

“He wanted to keep you asleep for a longer time, keep dosing you up.”

Stiles’ eyebrows rose. “What?”

“He said it was to help you and I couldn’t catch him in a lie, but something didn’t feel right.” Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles’ and sighed once more. “I caught him trying to administer an injection the last time he was here.”

“Bet that went down badly.” 

“I threw him out.”

“Literally?” Stiles couldn’t help the smile forming on his face.

“Maybe,” Derek hedged.

Stiles’ smile grew bigger. “I would have payed to see that. My big strong wolf, protecting me from the bad druid.” He rubbed his nose against Derek’s, ghosting his lips across Derek’s mouth. “You would have looked so hot.” He got in a kiss that was well on its way to deepening before Derek moved out of his embrace.

“Nice try, but I want you awake, not comatose.”

Stiles threw up his arms. “Oh, come on!”

***

While Derek prepared dinner, Stiles went over everything Deaton had told them, one thing nagging at him: the idea some druid may try to get the spheres and use them to collect the other pieces of Nemeton wood. Rebecca and Rose had shown him there were those who would do such a thing, meaning Stiles couldn’t leave them in the sycamore tree at his dad’s, it just wasn’t safe enough and could put his dad in danger.

He’d also been flippant when talking to Deaton about how he wasn’t worried about Rebecca coming after him. She had some major magic and if it hadn’t been for the circle he’d cast around her and Rose, things could have gone in a very different direction. If he was blindsided by an attack, Stiles didn’t know if he’d be up to the challenge. So far he’d been able to counter almost all druid magic he’d come up against, sans the black crystals and the amped-up pixie powder, but what if Rebecca or some other druid came at him with something more? What if they attacked the Nemeton and he wasn’t there to protect it because they snuck into the grove without him knowing by using something similar to the rings Deaton had made?

Derek sat down at the kitchen bench alongside Stiles, allowing the pasta he was cooking to do its thing on the stove without him. “What are you thinking?”

“Something you won’t like.” Stiles spun his stool to face Derek. “I have to go to the grove, that’s where I need to be right now. I have to do my job of being the fae protector.”

“No.”

“Derek, this isn’t open for discussion. I’m sorry, but —”

“NO.” Derek slipped of his chair, crowding into Stiles’ space. “You’re right, this isn’t open for discussion. You’re staying away from the Nemeton until Deaton works out how to heal it.”

Taking a moment, Stiles looked closely at him, touching Derek’s wrist lightly. “I doubt the fae’s going to be there.”

“It could be. It could turn up and take your memories again, or worse. It was a mistake to take you there the last time.”

Stiles flinched, knowing what the ‘worse’ could be, but covered quickly. “I still need to be there. Look, if the fae shows up, I’ll leave.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.” Stiles found the promise easily made; he didn’t want to be alone with the fae any time soon.

Derek’s stance loosened. “Just in case, I’ll go too.”

Shaking his head, Stiles slid off the bar stool, edging away so Derek couldn’t persuade him with proximity. “You can’t. I’m not saying don’t come visit, but the both of us being there isn’t practical. You know phones don’t always work in the grove and there needs to be a go-between for my dad and I. Someone looking out for him. I trust you to do that.”

“Don’t make me stay here without you,” Derek pleaded, his eyes shadowing.

“I can come and go too, you know. I don’t have to stay there all the time, but I do need to go,” Stiles answered, trying to ease the pain he could feel in the claiming bond. “Please, Derek, don’t make this difficult.” This was the one thing he knew he should do, the one thing that felt right since he’d gotten his memories back.

“Fine.” Derek turned and walked down the hallway to the bedroom, the claim growing quiet between them.

“Fuck,” Stiles sighed, wiping a hand down his face.

After a while, Derek reappeared, holding Stiles’ old school bag which he hadn’t even known was at the cabin. “If you must do this, you’re taking some things with you. Like food.” Opening the pantry door, Derek started to toss items into the bag while Stiles stood there, slightly dumbfounded. “You’re not going to stop eating again, let’s get that clear,” Derek said, turning off the stove where the unwatched pasta had started boiling at an alarming rate.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. 

Derek closed the pantry door and came up to Stiles, holding out the bag for him to take, their fingers brushing for the barest of moments before Derek dropped his hand. “I don’t like this one bit, but that’s never stopped you from doing what you want anyway and ignoring what’s best for us.”

“Derek, that’s not —”

“If you’re going, you should go.” Taking Stiles’ face in his hands, Derek gave a harsh peck on the lips, then backed away. With a few long strides he left the cabin, bounding down the porch steps and out into the forest. 

Stiles was left standing, bag in hand. A lone wolf howl had him closing his eyes and taking a deep fortifying breath before he sunlight-leaped away.

***

It was with a heavy heart that Stiles surveyed the clearing, taking in the surrounding trees and checking the illusions, making sure no one was walking even remotely close to the perimeter. 

Running the grove edges, he flittered over the snow, not completely trusting his senses as Deaton had showed how easy it was to fool his magic. If nothing else, Stiles now knew how important it was for him to take back the Nemeton wood pieces that were still out there. Just one more thing he’d have to figure out if he wanted to keep the Tree safe.

Slipping back into the clearing, Stiles dropped his glamor. Feeling immediately less suffocated by expectations, he rotated his head on his shoulders and breathed deep, taking in the biting cold of the air. The crisp tingle of snow had him curling his toes into it rhythmically as he stood there. The sun kissed his face and he stripped off his t-shirt to better capture its warmth.

“Well-met, dear heart.”

Heart skipping fast, Stiles wrapped his arms around himself. He leveled the fae with a glare and said nothing, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t invite it to engage in lies and manipulations.

The fae cast its eyes around the clearing. “No wolf to safe-guard your virtue?” Its eyes twinkled with something Stiles didn’t want to name.

“You don’t need to be here,” he pointed out, bending to pick up his shirt before putting it on in one swift move.

Watching him, the fae tipped its head to the side. “Have we lost your trust so completely, young changeling, that you are no longer pleased to see us?”

Stiles snorted angrily and looked away, eyes narrowing as he bit back a retort.

“You cannot ignore us,” the fae crooned.

“I can try.”

The fae laughed gently, sending the wind skirting around Stiles’ legs. “You need us,” it pointed out.

“I can heal the Tree by myself, I don’t need you,” Stiles retorted.

“Perhaps,” the fae allowed. “But we will remain anyway. We have too much invested in you.”

Stiles hissed, hands fisting by his sides. “If you have so much invested in me, why tell Brine who I was, what I was? How did my dying help you? Explain that!”

The fae considered him. “Will this knowledge help to end your animosity towards us?”

Sucking in a breath, Stiles counted in his head until he was certain he could answer without screaming. “I need to know.”

“Very well,” the fae conceded. “It is possible we underestimated the human’s need for revenge. We did not foresee the fixation he would place upon you. You were not to be harmed irrevocably. Just weakened.”

“Why?”

“You must understand, dear heart, we needed you. We needed you to need us.” 

“You said I agreed to be fae,” Stiles reminded it. “Was that another lie?”

“Oh, no.” The fae smiled smugly. “That you did do. But we required more.”

“More?” Stiles wanted to wrap his arms around himself again but held back on the impulse. 

“We required your complacence, your obedience. Without your family and friends, surely you would be completely ours.”

“That didn’t go the way you wanted, did it?” Stiles allowed himself his own smug smile. “The people who love me were never going to let me go. No matter how much you made me hate them.” Saying it and knowing it was true, gave Stiles a boost of courage. 

“So we have learnt. But we will still have you.”

Some of Stiles’ courage winked out in the face of the fae’s surety. “No, you won’t.”

“You say so now, dear heart, but in the years to come you will loose those you care for, one by one, until you are alone. Then, you will need us and we will be there.”

“You can’t know that,” Stiles told it, hoping it would admit to lying. “Anything can happen, no one knows what the future holds.”

“Fae live years longer than almost any other being.” The fae’s smile grew tighter, wider. “You are not stupid, you have knowledge of this already, though you may not want to admit it. You will live hundreds of years, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. Many, many years without those you cling to so tightly now.”

“No,” Stiles denied, swallowing. “No.” Feeling a panic attack coming on, he looked away through the trees and held his breath for the count of four, letting it out shakily and holding his lungs empty as he counted again.

“Fear not, dear heart, you will never be alone.”

The fae disappeared. 

Stiles’ heart was in his ears, thumping in time with the lump in his throat and the squeeze of his chest. “Just. Keep. Breathing,” he panted.

***

Lying on the blow-up mattress down in the Nemeton cellar, Stiles stared up at the Tree’s roots snaking across the compacted dirt ceiling. Derek could never know the fae had been in the grove. The only reason Stiles didn’t feel he’d broken his word, was that he hadn’t promised to leave ‘immediately’ if the fae showed up. Going back to the cabin would not help him keep the Tree safe, so he had to stay. He didn’t look on it as deception, so much as using a small technicality to his benefit.

A phone ringing from within his backpack had Stiles turning over on his side and searching for it in surprise. He took a deep breath and sat up to answer it when he saw who was calling. 

“Derek, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Derek said quietly. “I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being away from you. We’ve done it enough that I should be, but I’m not.” There was a pause. “That sounded possessive and creepy.”

Stiles laughed a little. “Only without subtext.”

“Well, we have plenty of that.” The smile was back in Derek’s voice and Stiles counted it as a win. “Look, just come home soon, okay?”

“As soon as I can,” Stiles agreed, not mentioning he didn’t know how long a period of time that would actually be.

“I love you, Stiles. Be safe.”

“Love you, too, my wolf.”

When Stiles ended the call, a sappy smile was sitting on his face and his heart felt lighter than before.

Pulling the backpack into his lap, he pawed through it, wondering what else Derek may have decided to surprise him with. There were a few packets of crisps, a couple of tins of ‘mystery’ food without the labels, and a tin opener. Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek didn’t want him to skip a meal but obviously wanted to make a point. Good food was to be had back at the cabin.

A clean t-shirt and pants had also been added, folded around something, and when Stiles shook them out, the Nemeton rings tumbled over the mattress. 

Scooping them up and counting them to make sure he had them all, Stiles surveyed the pieces. He found Rebecca’s poorly-carved wood piece in the bottom of the backpack and placed it with the others, lining them up on the blankets along with the Nemeton spheres he’d retrieved from the sycamore tree in his backyard before coming to the grove.

Taking Rebecca’s piece and the rings, Stiles crawled over the blow-up mattress to where a Tree root was pushing down through the ground. Using fae magic, he flicked away the residue druid magic around the pieces and placed each one on the root, wedging the rings into cracks and balancing the larger awkward piece on top. 

With his fingers, he stroked each piece, sending magic into them and awakening their Nemeton connection. The root started glowing, lighting up along its bark, swirls of energy engaging with the pieces in a glorious multicolor show of sparks and strobe lighting. The light eventually dimmed, the energy sinking back under the root bark, leaving the cellar looking drab after such an illuminated performance. 

The rings and larger piece of Nemeton wood were completely gone, root wood taking their place, looking natural and healthy and as if it had always been so. Stiles smiled and smoothed a hand along the wood. He would never get tired of seeing that.

With the rings and Rebecca’s piece back where they belonged, Stiles was left with the spheres. Not knowing if he put them in the Tree whether he’d be able to get them back out, he stood up and looked around for an alternative place to hide them. He couldn’t leave them out in the open as Lydia had shown how easy it was to steal from the cellar, but Stiles didn’t want to leave them in the sycamore tree either, not if druids had the means to track them down. It was only luck and residue magic that had Rebecca and Rose searching for the old hiding place in the aspen forest and not the new one at his dad’s place.

Eyes coming to rest on one of the support beams, Stiles ran a hand down it, wondering. When he’d broken into the animal clinic with Derek, he’d pulled the Nemeton coin through space and time, taking it out of the drawer it was locked in and finding it in his palm. Could he use the same magic he’d used then and push the spheres into the beam?

Opening his earth and tree abilities, Stiles delved into the dead wood of the support beam, finding it imbued with Nemeton magic. As the entire area of the grove was soaked in it, this wasn’t much of a surprise. Looking closer, he decided the spheres wouldn’t be adversely affected by the magic and continued with his inspection. What he needed was a gap in the beam because he couldn’t think of how to merge the spheres directly into another substance. He could hide them in the hole like he’d done at the sycamore tree, only with a bit more pizzaz. 

Finding a line of wood that seemed softer than its surroundings, Stiles followed it down and around the beam, edging closer to the ground. Just before the beam hit the floor, he found it: a rotten lump hidden behind a layer of stronger wood. There was no visible sign of the rot on the outside of the beam, which was perfect. 

Crouching down, Stiles got comfortable. Placing his palm against the beam, he edged his magic into it. At first nothing happened, but then the rotten wood shifted. Caught as it was inside the beam there wasn’t a lot of space it could move into but it crumbled under a bit of pressure, creating a gap the size of a thumb. Stiles worked on it for a while but could only press the rotten wood into a pulp so far before its mass simply meant it couldn’t compress any further. The space he’d created was only three fingers deep, not nearly big enough.

Letting his magic go, Stiles had an ache behind his eyes. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he rolled one of the spheres under his hand along the dirt floor, back and forth. On a particularly stronger roll than the others, the sphere shot out from under his hand. It rolled along the cellar floor, stopping when it bumped into the mattress. Stiles wasn’t really watching it, the fae disappearing Argent’s metal flame thrower coming to mind. 

“Believe,” he whispered, placing his palm back on the beam. Delving deep once again, he felt for the rot. Wrapping his magic around the clump, he thought of what he wanted to happen, then willed it to be so while making a grabbing motion with his hand and pulling.

Without a sound, the rotten pulp winked out of the beam and appeared on the floor near his foot. Stiles landed on his backside, the effort to pull something, even with his mind, using energy that came back at him with the rot’s release. He grunted as he landed but was grinning in satisfaction.

The next bit should be easier; it was simply a matter of phasing the Nemeton spheres into the space he’d created in the beam. It took a bit more effort than that, or at least, a little more belief, but both spheres popped out of his hands and nestled into their new home. On the outside, the beam was still the same as it had always been, with no indicator of what it hid.

Sighing happily, Stiles stood up, feeling a little tired but otherwise okay. Then he paused. What if he lost his memories again? The fae’s magic hadn’t been subjective; not every memory lost had been important to its design. He’d lost things such as his mom helping him bury the dead cat he’d found in their backyard, and what his dad had said the first time he’d been told about werewolves. Stiles wasn’t even sure he’d gotten everything back. What if the fae decided to take his memories again, what if the memory lost was where the spheres were hidden?

Crouching once more, Stiles brightened the sunlight coming down the cellar steps, angling it towards the beam. The light did a twisting bending dance that was not at all probable but entirely possible when the one controlling it was fae. It arched around the beam and hit the area which hid the spheres. With a little smugness, Stiles tightened the beam until it was harsh enough to burn a slow spiral onto the wood. Two more followed, Stiles making sure they touched the first. When the triskelion was complete, he let the light go and eyed his handiwork. The symbol was perfect; only someone looking for it specifically would find it, and only Derek or himself would know of its importance.

Finally feeling things were completed, Stiles took himself up the cellar stairs, wanting to stretch and energize himself with some sun-baking. He got to the top step and waved a hand, cloaking the cellar with illusion as he stepped out onto the snow.

“Woah,” said Cue from behind him. “I totally thought I’d be able to see through any magic you cast from now on, but that great big honking hole in the ground just vanished!” As Stiles stared in surprise, the boy walked over to him, eyes roving over the ground around where the cellar was.

“What, how? Cue!” Stiles spluttered.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Cue quipped, his grin dropping as he took in Stiles’ expression of shock. “Ah, sorry. Should have called first, I see that now.” He held up his hands and did tiny jazz hands. “Surprise?”

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you here??” Stiles grabbed Cue and checked him over for any Nemeton wood pieces.

“Hey, hey, Stiles! Stop! Wait!” Cue protested as Stiles patted down the pockets in his jacket. “Look, I did the wrong thing, but just chill for a sec, okay?” 

Stiles let him go, not feeling particularly obligated to play nice. “Well? Explain.”

Cue shrugged his jacket back into place, looking sheepish. “You’re dad told me a bit more about what’s been going on. And that creepy vet guy showed up, asking questions. What’s with him? Someone should tell him droid is not a way of life.”

Stiles’ frown deepened. Looked like Deaton hadn’t listened and had gone after Cue as soon as he could. He couldn’t fault the kid for wanting out of that situation.

“It was getting kinda claustrophobic at the care home, apparently being in a coma makes everyone extra clingy. They want to know where I am all the time, which kinda sucks. I’m used to taking care of myself, I’m not a child! And they’ve limited where I can go now, like just work and a few other places, but I’m allowed at your dad’s, so that’s good. Did I tell you, your dad’s incredible? He’s got my carers thinking he’s the best! They just love him, seriously, they —”

“You know, I normally don’t begrudge a good rambling monologue,” Stiles said, interrupting Cue. “But I need you to focus here, alright? Just for a few seconds at least.”

“I said I was going to your dad’s and instead I came here,” Cue finished quickly, giving a lopsided sheepish smile.

“Cue,” Stiles tried really hard not to sound too condescending, “How exactly are you here?”

“I walked. Took a bit of time, but I hiked with my dad a lot when he was alive, so it was no biggie.”

“No.” Stiles rubbed at his face. “I meant, no one can just walk in here. The grove and this clearing are magically protected. So. How. Are. You. Here?” he asked, putting emphasis on each word.

“I. Walked. In,” Cue answered, punctuating just like Stiles. “I did pass through some of your magic on the way.” Cue’s eyes widened in glee. “Oh, yeah! I can totally see your magic now! How cool is that?!” At Stiles’ disturbed look, Cue’s jubilance dwindled. “That’s not a good thing, is it?” He looked down at the ground. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Stiles pulled a face at how despondent Cue seemed, and couldn’t help but place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. No one’s able to ‘see’ my magic. At least, no one bar Deaton.” 

Perking up like Stiles had offered him a hundred bucks, Cue said, “Well, I am connected to the magic tree, so maybe it’s that.” Turning, he took a good look at the Nemeton. “It was a stump the last time I was here, right?”

“Yeah.” Stiles let a smile show. “It grew.”

Cue whistled, tipping his head back as he followed the branches snaking their way overhead. “And then some.”

“Okay, we know you can walk through the illusions, but why are you here, exactly?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, um. I don’t know,” Cue admitted. “There was just this feeling inside me and I knew I had to be here.”

“The Tree called you?”

“Maybe?”

“That isn’t good.” Stiles eyed the Nemeton, thinking about what could have happened, what could still happen if Cue rocked up on his own and the fae appeared. “I’m not the only one who comes here. You could get in serious trouble. You can only be here if I say it’s okay. If I say no, you stay away.”

“What? Nooo,” Cue whined. “Stiles, I feel good here. Better than I have since I woke up. I feel like I can breathe, man, and it’s not just that you don’t treat me like I’m breakable.”

“I get it,” Stiles said gently, understanding and wishing he didn’t. “You’re connected to the Tree, being near it feels natural, great even. But Cue, the fae’s out there somewhere and if it got you alone …”

Cue blanched. “Yeah, I get it. Staying away unless you’re with me. But you won’t stop me all the time, will you?”

“No.”

Sighing a big relieved sigh, Cue grabbed Stiles in an impromptu hug. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but patted Cue on the back. “No worries.”

***

After allowing Cue some time to wonder around the grove clearing, Stiles had to ask him something. “You don’t see the cellar, do you?”

“Nah, I know it’s there, but the ground is solid to me,” Cue answered while kicking at a ridge of snow under two trees in order to make it crumble in on itself. “Why is that? I can walk right through the magic surrounding this place, why is the hole any different?”

Stiles shrugged, but he had an inkling it may have something to do with the magic being used. The illusions around the grove were connected to the Tree, whereas the cellar’s magic was purely him. In the hospital, the magic used to make Derek and himself invisible was his too, purely fae, and Cue hadn’t been able to see Derek at all. He could see Stiles, but Stiles had an idea that was because of the connection to the Tree which they now shared. He hoped so, anyway, because it meant there was still a barrier there. He didn’t want Cue immune to his magic. Stiles was self-aware enough to know the assuredness he gained from being a powerful magical supernatural was important to his well-being. The thought of someone being able to render his magic impotent was highly unnerving. 

“Stiles?” Cue asked. “What do we do now?”

“You go home,” Stiles told him. “I stay here. It’s not rocket science.”

“But I thought …”

“What?”

“Well, like I said before, you’re dad’s been telling me about some of the stuff that happened while I was asleep. I thought we could talk about it.”

Stiles balked. This was exactly why he’d put Cue to sleep in the first place. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I want to talk about Bonnie, and I think you owe me that much considering you’re the one who kept me in my coma.” Cue gave him a flat look, and Stiles scowled back. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Cue’s persistence irked Stiles. He didn’t have to defend himself to this kid. “Nope.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Thank you.”

“Arghhh!” Cue threw his hands up in the air. “Your dad warned me you wouldn’t want to talk about it. He said you were dealing with the guilt in your own way.”

Stiles stiffened, wishing his dad wasn’t so forthcoming.

“I didn’t bring it up to make you feel worse,” Cue continued. “I mean it, Stiles, I just want to say I understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you did what you did, why you kept me asleep.” After a slight pause wherein Cue side-eyed Stiles, he added, “Why you tried to kill Bonnie.”

“I didn’t try to kill Bonnie, I saved her!” Stiles disputed. “The fae wanted to kill her! I did the best I could!” He ignored the times when he’d been agreeable to killing her; those didn’t count because he hadn’t gone through with it.

“Yeah, you did,” Cue agreed. “So why do you still have such an issue with things? It’s okay. I really do understand what happened. The choices you had to make. Okay, I would have preferred it if you hadn’t done any of it, but I don’t hold it against you. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

He looked and sounded so truthful that Stiles desperately wanted to use his fox ability to double check, not really believing what he was seeing and hearing. 

“You saved Bonnie,” Cue continued. “She’s gone back home with her parents and she’ll be fine.”

Stiles huffed out a bitter laugh. “Fine is a relative term at best. She’s going to need therapy for the rest of her life because of what I did to her.”

“But she’s alive to do it. And I’ll talk to her, make sure she knows what you did.”

Having had just about enough of this conversation, Stiles retorted, “She already knows better than you what I did.”

“God!” Cue cursed. “Stop it! I know you blame yourself for everything, but you need to know I don’t. Give Bonnie some time and she won’t either.”

Stiles looked at him with pity. “You’re delusional. But you’ll learn.”

“Holy fuck!” Cue looked at Stiles with exasperation. “You really are annoying!”

“Right back at you.”

They stared at each other, neither one backing down.

“Go home, Cue.”

“Make me.” It was obviously a reactive comeback, but Cue paled after he said it.

Stiles took a step forward.

“You won’t hurt me, we’ve been here before.” Cue stood up straighter, jutting his chin out.

“I don’t have to hurt you to get rid of you,” Stiles said, placing a heavy hand on Cue’s shoulder. 

They disappeared out of the clearing less than a second later.

***

“Seriously, kid, you can’t do this to me.”

It was the first thing Stiles’ dad exclaimed when he saw them walk into the house from the backyard, and it took Stiles a moment to realize his dad was talking to Cue, not him. He gave Cue a smug look which promptly vanished when his dad turned on him. 

“Don’t think I don’t hold you responsible for what he does when he’s with you. Any delinquency is your fault.” Stiles spluttered out a nonsensical noise that had his dad scoffing. “Deal with it. That’s what happens when you’re the adult.”

Cue tried to hide his laughter and ended up having to leave the kitchen before he choked.

Watching him go, Stiles’ dad then asked in a much quieter tone, “He’s okay, though, right? He’s lucky he had the foresight to text me and let me know he was with you so I could make an excuse when his carers called to make sure he’d arrived here safely. Which I don’t like doing, by the way.”

Raising his hands in defense, Stiles said, “Hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t put him up to it.”

His dad didn’t look convinced. “Why was he with you?”

“He found me at the grove.” To his dad’s look of surprise, Stiles made a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “He walked there. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t ask him to. He just did it, and surprise, he can get through my wards now and enter whenever he wants.”

His dad’s expression turned into one of worry. “Stiles —”

“Don’t worry, I told him he can’t go hang out there and I think he listened.”

They shared a long look.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” his dad suggested.

“Probably for the best,” Stiles agreed.

The sound of breaking glass and the front door opening had the two of them looking at each other in alarm. Stiles was moving before conscious thought kicked in, his dad a second behind as they ran into the living room.

“Uh, guys?” Cue said, backing into them as Ramona entered, brandishing a handgun.

“Hello boys,” she said to Stiles and Cue, “and Sheriff Stilinski.” 

“What do you want, Ramona?” Stiles’ dad demanded, motioning for Cue to get behind him. “How did you get past the depute at the hospital?”

“Pfft. Easy enough,” Ramona replied vaguely, her eyes blown wide. “And what do I want? What I’ve always wanted since I came to this town, Sheriff. I want answers.” She turned to Stiles, waving her gun at him casually. “You can give me all the answers I seek, so I need you to come with me.”

Stiles took his time answering, looking her over. Ramona didn’t look good. The bandages around her head and arm made her seem slightly ridiculous, even with the gun. Her gait was also decidedly lopsided and Stiles had the notion she was probably high on pain meds.

“No offense, Rammie,” he began, unable to stop himself, “but you look like you’ve seen better days. You sure you want to do this again? You may fry to a crisp this time, not just sizzle a bit around the edges.”

His dad sighed quietly next to him. Stiles knew he’d already discarded the thought of trying to get his gun from the safe in the study and was busy thinking of a way to get Ramona to drop hers.

Ramona’s eyes hardened through the medication as she glared at Stiles. “Stop calling me that! Have some respect for your betters.”

“If I see any of those I’ll be sure to do so,” Stiles quipped.

“Stiles, I don’t think you should be taunting her, she’s the one with the gun,” Cue whispered loudly.

“Yes, excellent deduction, Cotter,” Ramona twittered at him. “I am the one with the gun. So why don’t you come over here, and I’ll leave with you if Stiles doesn’t feel like cooperating.”

“Over my dead body,” Stiles’ dad said, and it was Stiles’ turn to sigh.

“If you insist,” Ramona agreed and turned the gun on him. “I don’t like the idea of killing law enforcement, too much work to get rid of the body and get away clean, but I will if you push me.” She blinked slowly and for a second Stiles hoped she’d faint, but the moment passed and her aim straightened out, level and true, pointing right at his dad’s chest. “Come with me now, Stiles. I won’t ask again.”

“Don’t you dare,” his dad warned him. 

Now Stiles knew the easiest thing for him to do would be to grab his dad and Cue and sunlight-leap them right out of there, but Ramona had threatened his dad and that just made him see red. He wanted to stop her, not just run away.

“You’re taking too long to decide,” Ramona complained. “I’m done waiting.” 

The gun went off seconds after Stiles shoved his dad out of the way. The bullet hit the wall behind them and Stiles hissed, his glamor dropping.

“There you are, come out to play little monster.” There was a click as Ramona tried to shoot Stiles and the gun jammed. She yelled in frustration and dropped it on the floor, pulling a wicked-looking skinning knife from her jacket pocket. “Always come prepared.”

Stiles snorted with derision. “Someone smarter would have brought two guns. How’re you feeling, Rammie, do you need to sit for a while?”

Ramona stood up straighter from where she’d been listing, savoring her burnt side. “I despise you,” she seethed.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Stalking forward, Ramona weaved the knife through the air like a snake. “I’ll teach you that you shouldn’t mock me.” 

The knife flipped out of her hand with a wobbly throw but didn’t hit Stiles. Instead it sailed past him, then Cue, bouncing off the wall behind them and into the kitchen.

Cue fell back a few steps, holding his left cheek. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he exclaimed weakly, removing his hand and showing a large bleeding cut.

“You bitch!” Stiles ground out between clenched teeth, control fast becoming a slippery elusive thing. 

Cue’s pain and shock floated through the air, true and clean and tasting of good things. Stiles swallowed against the urge to take more from him, to pull the pain out in ribbons.

Keeping one eye on Ramona, Stiles’ dad got Cue to sit on the arm of the sofa and press a hand to the cut. “You need to stop this. You’re looking at jail time already, don’t make it worse for yourself. You need to put the gun down and back away.”

Ramona looked pained. “None of this would be happening if Stiles would just come with me!”

“That’s not going to happen!”

“Um, Stiles?” Cue took his hand away from his face, revealing the cut which was slowly but surely on its way to mending. “Should I be worried it doesn’t hurt anymore?”

Ramona’s mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide. “You’ve changed him,” she whispered, appalled. “He’s a freak.” She looked at Stiles with disgust. “He was just a child. Is nothing sacred to you?”

The hypocrisy of her statement was too much for Stiles. He was confident Cue was being healed by the Nemeton, though it was happening at a rate much faster than he would have thought. “Shut up,” he told Ramona through sharp teeth. “Before I forget to not kill you.”

Ramona had the gall to laugh then, tipping her head back and swaying a bit with the motion. “You and what army?” she taunted.

Something fragile snapped inside Stiles and the void opened up, yawning wide, its hunger overwhelming any thought to do the right thing. All the was left was the idea that if he didn’t stop Ramona now, stop her in a permanent way, she’d keep coming back, she’d never stop. Every part of him was on the same page. Ramona had to die.

“Stiles, no!!” 

He heard his dad yelling but it didn’t really register. What did was Ramona’s face in his hands, her life starting to pour into him, down into the void as he toppled her onto the ground. Distantly he could hear himself hissing, something straight out of a nightmare; loud and furious and with a hunger to it that held no control.

Ramona offered up no resistance; gun dropping to the floor as her hands went slack, a displaced horror frozen in her eyes. A whimper was sucked out of her before she shuddered once, then lay still. 

Slowing the void’s pull, Stiles wanted to take his time and revel in the moment. Ramona’s life ran before his mind’s eye, every bad thing she’d ever done, and there were a lot, all leading up to this moment. Through her memory, he saw himself; one second as a young boy out of his depth, the next, a monster who was stripping her from the inside out, taking everything and giving no mercy. Her fear was rich with surprise and Stiles reeled it in, loving the way it tasted like thick spiced honey. 

He started to laugh, a chuckle that travelled from his gut, a dark delight threaded through it.

Something hard came smashing down on his back, knocking Ramona loose from his grasp. Stiles snarled and looked up, Cue almost dropping the wooden baseball bat he clutched in his left hand. Stiles knew he’d put the bat in the back hall closest when he’d level-upped to a steel one, and only his dad had known it was there.

“Stiles, this isn’t you, man,” Cue stammered, backing away.

Stiles’ dad pulled Cue further away, the gun from the study in his hand, but not aimed. “Let her go.”

“No,” Stiles hissed. “She dies today.”

“Not on my watch.”

Stiles smirked, feeling his fae teeth catch on his bottom lip. “You going to shoot me over her? I’m doing this for you.”

“No, you’re doing it for the thing that’s inside you. The void.” His dad sounded so sure, but there was something else behind it. “Lock it back down, son. Do it now before you can’t.” He brought up the gun, and Stiles remembered he’d been taught only to aim at something when he was willing to shoot. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You’re afraid,” Stiles stated, his fox ability reeling in his dad’s fear, tasting the sugar spice of it.

“For you,” his dad said.

“That’s not the whole truth.” Something a little like clarity managed to pierce the rush Stiles was experiencing from taking a soul. “You’re afraid of me.” 

His dad didn’t refute it, the pain in his eyes more telling than anything he could have said.

Feeling ill at the thought of putting that look on his dad’s face, Stiles slid off Ramona like he’d actually been shot. Shaking his head, he willed his glamor back on.

“Thank Christ,” his dad breathed, kneeling down next to Ramona and checking on her. “She’s not breathing.” 

Pulling on the void, Stiles stopped from killing Ramona in the nick of time; her soul tethered to life by the most fragile of threads. It felt wrong, he should be ending her, but his dad was right there and Stiles couldn’t do it, not with his dad watching. “I can’t, I can’t …” he mumbled. “Get it out of me,” he pleaded. “Get it out.”

“Get what out, the void? What do I do?” The frantic thread of his dad’s emotions sheared into Stiles. Sharp and crisp, they made him shiver in repressed delight. “Cue? Do you know what he means?”

“How would I know??” Cue cried out. 

Stiles looked up at Cue, seeing nothing but the promise of bright lovely bubbling pain. Pain which he wanted to stretch into eternity. He could open the threaded skin closed with Nemeton magic, make Cue bleed and hurt, gobble it all up and enjoy every moment. Stiles closed his eyes.

Cue dropped to his knees and grabbed Stiles’ shoulders. “Stiles, dude, listen to me, I’m going to take a huge leap of faith here and say we can get through this. You just have to believe it, okay?”

Stiles nodded, Cue’s touch strengthening the taste of fear, but determination coming through too.

“Alright, what’s in you?”

“Ramona,” Stiles panted. “Her soul.”

Both his dad and Cue recoiled at that, but Cue kept going. “Okay. And you need to put her back in her body, yeah? So, I don’t know … can you push her out? Come on, just think it and do it and believe you can, alright?”

Stiles shook his head. Ramona’s soul was heavy, weighing him down. Any longer within him and he’d never be able to let her go, the void would own her. Then he’d be the one who was in trouble.

“That’s bullshit, Stiles! The stuff you can do, man! You’re amazing! Don’t you realize that?” Cue shook Stiles’ shoulders. “Stop being such a baby and just do it!” The insult had Stiles hissing quietly and Cue looked pleased. “That’s it, fight back, fight the …” he shot a look at Stiles’ dad, “… void. Fight the void. You’re better than it. Don’t let it win. Come on, where’s that scary son of a mother?”

Stiles curled in on himself, groaning. 

“Remember how you terrified me when we first met?” Cue’s fingers dug into Stiles’ shoulder blades. “I totally crapped myself when I saw your fae face for the first time.”

Stiles chuckled in spite of himself.

“So, come on,” Cue continued. “Show me that person; be that fae. Show the void who’s boss!”

“Come on, Stiles, you can do this.” His dad gripped Stiles’ hand.

Their combined faith in him had Stiles struggling to do as asked. Gathering his magic, he pushed with all his might. The void fought him, but Stiles squeezed his dad’s hand and yanked on Ramona’s soul. 

When the threads of her soul came free from the void, she surged towards her body, pouring out of Stiles like liquid metal. He gagged and thrashed, feeling every bit emptied out and hollow. When it was done, the void folded in on itself. Stiles buried it deep, pushing it down, wiping away all lingering urges to hook Ramona’s soul again. Resting on the floor, he blinked groggily, watching as color started to come back to Ramona’s skin. She breathed in a huge gulp of air, eyelids fluttering.

With heavy relief, Stiles’ dad announced, “She’s back.” Rubbing at his mouth with one hand, he patted Cue on the arm. “Good job.”

Cue sat back, leaning against the wall, looking shaken and slightly shell-shocked. His foot nudged Ramona’s arm and he pulled it back quickly.

Stiles gave him a weak smile. Moving as if he were a hundred years old, he pulled himself up to sitting. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” Cue replied, sounding just as tired. “It’s not like I was about to let you suck the life out of someone. Even if it’s my crazy-ass Aunt and if she died I really wouldn’t care.” 

Stiles stared at him. 

“What?” Cue asked. “Too soon?”

***

Cue sat with Stiles in his bedroom. They’d just finished watching the deputes reading Ramona her rights. She’d been very subdued, having awoken as the police arrived, only to protest weakly when they went to cuff her. She didn’t say a word as they led her out the door. 

It had been left up to Parish to take Stiles’ and Cue’s statements, Stiles’ dad having to give one of his own. They’d had enough time to get their stories straight, but nothing needed to be made up except Ramona passing out suddenly after trying to kill the Sheriff. The attempt alone would see her getting some serious jail time. On top of her trying to kill Deaton at the veterinary clinic and burning the building down, Parish had told Stiles she’d be lucky to get less than ten years without parole.

It didn’t seem enough.

Stiles had been very quiet when the deputes had arrived, only talking when asked direct questions. His dad had looked at him with some worry but couldn’t do anything more while directing the arrest. Leaving for the station, he’d asked Stiles to stay with Cue until he could take him home to his carers and explain what had happened.

“You okay?” Cue asked, bumping his shoulder into Stiles.

“People ask me that a lot.” 

“I wonder why,” Cue said dryly. 

Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt. He’d almost killed Ramona and while he was glad he hadn’t taken another life, a bigger part of him was listing the trouble that could arise from her still being alive. He could have taken her soul to the Tree and given her up. Sure, he would have had to deal with the aftermath of coming back down from it, which sucked, but it wouldn’t have lasted. Now, Ramona’s revenge could take any shape and be at any time. “I should have killed her.”

Cue’s eyes widened. “No, pretty sure you shouldn’t have. You’re not a killer, Stiles.”

Stiles side-eyed him, saying nothing. It looked like his dad hadn’t seen fit to tell Cue everything, which meant Cue didn’t know about his cousin, Stefanie. While there was no love lost there, Stiles bet Cue wouldn’t be half as happy to be alone with him if he knew the truth.

“You know,” Cue said, “I’ve seen a lot of stuff, weird stuff, and I’ve been afraid of you a lot.”

Stiles pulled a face.

“But today I was afraid for you, just like your dad was.” Cue scuffed his sneakered foot along the carpet. “I don’t go in for mushy moments but I think I should tell you something.” He went quiet, biting a fingernail. “The worst thing that happened to me was loosing my dad.” Pain flashed across his face. “But the best thing was meeting you and your dad.”

Stiles wanted to laugh in disbelief. “You’ve been arrested, stabbed, shot and slashed in the time you’ve known me. Not to mention how close you came to dying. Sure you’re not just saying this due to shock?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Cue retorted, shoving at Stiles. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say!”

Cue sighed. “Fine. You and your dad, you’re both … pretty important to me.”

Stiles snickered at the look of utter uncomfortableness Cue was displaying. Then he grew serious. “My dad really cares for you, Cue, I can see it.”

“What about …” Cue stopped.

“Me?” Stiles was tempted to blow Cue off with a smart comment. “I guess you’ve grown on me.”

“Like a brother?” The hope in Cue’s eyes was something Stiles hadn’t expected.

“Like a mould,” he replied, unable to fully repress the instinct to be a jerk.

Cue snorted and shook his head. This time when he leant in, Stiles gave a proper hug in return. Then knuckled Cue in the top of the head, causing him to flail. “Quit it, you ass!”

Stiles laughed and got up off the bed. Walking down the front hallway, he stopped as the door unlocked and Derek stepped inside.

There was a moment where they both checked the other over, before Stiles closed the distance between them and was hugged tightly.

“Your dad called me.” Derek scented along Stiles’ neck, breathing deeply.

“Good. Want you here,” Stiles replied, closing his eyes.

“If you guys are going to get it on, I’m going to throw up.” Cue gave a disgusted look when both Derek and Stiles turned to look at him. “What? It’s like watching my parents, or would be if my mom had ever been into my dad the way you two are into each other.” Cue shuddered. “I need to wash my brain.”

“Shut up, Cue,” Derek told him, letting go of Stiles.

Stiles gave Cue the stink eye. It was going to be hard enough to get Derek to do anything with him thanks to Deaton’s warnings. Add Cue’s comments and he was going to have a severe case of blue balls soon.

Cue just gave a cheeky grin in return and wondered back down the hallway.

***

It was getting on into the evening when Stiles’ dad came home and took Cue back to his carers. Stiles didn’t begrudge him the job of explaining the day’s events in a way that wouldn’t have major repercussions, but if anyone could do it, it would be his dad.

“What are you thinking about?” Derek asked, coming to sit with him on the back porch steps and handing Stiles a glass of water.

Stiles nudged himself closer to his wolf, aligning their hips and thighs. The evening air was turning quite chill and it felt perfect against his skin. One or two stars were out and the night looked like it was going to be clear and calm, no storms in evidence.

“Stiles?”

Taking a sip of water, Stiles smiled at Derek gently. “Just that being here feels kind of weird.”

“Why’s that?”

Stiles shrugged a little. “It’s been a while since I spent more than a few hours here. Considering it’s where I live, it just seems odd.”

Derek blinked, a frown appearing as he opened his mouth.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love how things are between us, I’m not asking for things to change, that isn’t this conversation,” Stiles barrelled on. “I’m just saying it feels strange.”

Derek closed his mouth and was quiet for long enough that Stiles began to think he shouldn't have said anything. “You think you still live here?” Derek finally asked.

“Well, yeah?” Stiles gave Derek a confused look. “Of course I do. We never discussed anything else.”

“Oh.” A look of understanding dawned in Derek’s eyes and his lips started to curl. “I guess we didn’t.”

“Hang on,” Stiles said, beginning to think he was missing something as Derek’s smile stretched wider. “What’s so funny?”

“We’re bonded and mated,” Derek said, as if that explained things.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

Derek’s smile turned from amusement to the soft one he reserved for Stiles only. Stiles’ heart kicked up a notch and Derek’s eyes grew fonder. “I never mentioned it because I didn’t realize you needed to hear the words. The cabin is ours, Stiles, your’s and mine. We’ve been living together for months now.” 

As Derek moved closer, their noses touching, Stiles’ brain was fluctuating from the desire to kiss him to the realization he’d been completely oblivious to what was right in front of him. “Oh,” he breathed out. “I guess we have.”

Derek chuckled quietly and his breath ghosted out across Stiles’ cheeks. “I can make it official if you like and text everybody. Of course, they’ll think it strange as it’s common knowledge. Even your dad knows.”

“He does?”

There was laughter in every word as Derek said, “Stiles, he helped me move some of your things into the cabin! Didn’t you notice your clothes, your books and DVDs? The fact you have a key?”

Stiles was starting to feel rather stupid because no, he really hadn’t and he should have.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind. We all understand.”

“Don’t really think that excuses much,” Stiles replied. “I’m sorry, Der, I didn’t know.”

“Don’t be sorry. The important thing is, are you happy with it?”

It was so endearing how hopeful Derek sounded that Stiles started to smile, some of his embarrassment fading away as the idea started to sink in. “Yeah. Hell, yeah, I am.” Melting into their kiss, Stiles moaned and pressed his body closer, the claim starting to sing. When Derek’s hand cupped the back of his neck, Stiles reached out to touch him.

The sound of glass breaking as it hit the stairs near their feet had them both looking down. 

“Whoops.” Stiles moved his foot away from the shards of the drinking glass he’d forgotten he’d been holding. 

“Well done,” Derek said dryly, but there was amusement there.

“Not like I meant to —” Stiles started to defend himself, then suddenly he lifted his head, looking off in the direction of the Nemeton grove.

“What is it?” Derek asked.

“Someone’s trying to get in.” There was a blunt force banging against the edge of Stiles’ illusions, not so much someone trying to sneak in and as someone wanting his attention. “I have to go, I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

“Take me with you.” Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You don’t have time to argue with me, so just do it.”

Stiles nodded, not wanting Derek to be angry if he left without him.

Within a moment they were both standing just outside the grove, watching as a hooded someone threw a rock. It was thrown in the direction of the illusions and somehow, rather than just passing through, it bounced off them and Stiles felt the knocking sensation again. They were a little behind the person doing the throwing and it was dark enough under the trees with the evening’s ever-dimming light, that it took Stiles a second to work out who it was.

“Rebecca?” he said, shock making him speak out loud.

Rebecca turned quickly, glaring at Stiles. “You! You bastard! Rose is in the hospital because of you!” She weighed another rock in her gloved hand as if she was thinking of throwing it directly at Stiles. “Fix her!”

“No,” Stiles refused, automatically not wanting to help because he’d been told to. That it was a druid telling him made him even more obstinate.

“No?!” Rebecca spat, her eyes flashing. With one hand she pushed back her jacket hood, baring her head to the cold evening air.

“No,” Stiles repeated.

“Why not? Do you like playing with people’s lives so much?”

“It’s not like that,” Derek said, gaining Rebecca’s attention. “When he says no, he means he can’t.”

“That’s not true,” Rebecca argued. “That can’t be true.”

“We can’t help you,” Derek said.

“I don’t even know who you are.” Rebecca eyed Derek with annoyance. Turning to Stiles she said plaintively, “She could die. Rose could die, and it will be on you.”

A wave of hate came at Stiles, strong enough to waken his fox ability without his conscious thought. Stepping back, he tried not to enjoy the rich molasses as it washed over him, but it was hard and he found himself swallowing to hold in the spiteful retort that wanted to come out. He could make Rebecca’s hatred grow so easily and was sorely tempted.

“You need to leave,” Derek growled at Rebecca and his eyes flashed. 

“Shifter,” Rebecca noted. “You stand with the fae boy?”

“I do,” Derek replied. 

“Then you will suffer along with him.” Rebecca drew back her arm and threw the rock she still held. It came sailing towards Stiles and hit him in the chest before falling to the ground.

There was a second where Stiles and Derek stared at the rock, Stiles reflexively rubbing where he’d been hit, then at Rebecca. When the rock unexpectedly blew up, it sent Stiles sailing backwards through the air.

He hit the ground hard, surprise more than injury making him lay there blinking up at the stars. A loud roar had him sitting up in time to see Rebecca being tackled by Derek. She yelped in pain as he twisted her arms behind her back and threatened her with his fangs.

“Stop,” he warned, shaking her a bit when it looked like she was going to try to fight back.

Stilling, Rebecca glared at Derek, inches away from her neck. “Let me go.”

Stiles meandered over, trying not to seem too pleased, though a forceful, protective, wolfy Derek was doing all sorts of things for him.

“I won’t do anything,” Rebecca added.

“You’ll be unconscious before you can try,” Derek promised.

Stiles kind of wanted to jump him right there and then. He shrugged when Derek gave him a slightly exasperated look, obviously scenting his interest.

“Go back to Rose,” Stiles said to Rebecca. “And don’t come back here. Not unless you want to join her in the ground.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he let Rebecca go with a slight shove. She stumbled a bit and took a few steps away, one gloved hand rubbing at a shoulder. Her hatred was still in full swing and Stiles breathed deep, allowing himself to gloat a bit when it bloomed stronger than before. 

“Leave,” Derek ordered of Rebecca. “Now!”

“You’ll regret this choice,” Rebecca said, backing away further. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

She took her time leaving but when she finally disappeared into the dark, a bobbing flashlight marking her progress, Derek blew out a huge sigh.

“And you thought I didn’t need to be here,” Stiles pointed out unhelpfully.

“Don’t start,” Derek said. “She won’t be back if she’s smart.”

Stiles gave an unconvinced snort. “Grief makes people do the stupid.”

“Then let’s hope her Rose is okay,” Derek replied.

Stiles shot him a wide smile, full of intent. “How about you, huh? My big bad wolf, going all protector over me.” His fingers found their way past Derek’s jacket and under his shirt to press against skin. “I wanted you so bad.”

“I know.” Derek allowed Stiles to nip along the pulse point on his neck, even tipping his head to grant better access. “I could smell you.”

“Can you smell me now?” Stiles whispered against Derek’ ear. 

“Yes,” Derek breathed out.

“Good. Want you.” 

Stiles leaped them both down into the Nemeton cellar, the blow up mattress wobbling when they fell onto it.

Derek allowed Stiles to pull off his jacket and get rid of it before he said, “We can’t do this.” The fact he said it while undoing the zipper of his own jeans meant Stiles didn’t pay much attention. 

“We so can,” he disagreed, reaching out to touch Derek through his boxers. The heat under his palm had him salivating.

Derek hissed and pressed into Stiles’ touch. “You’ll use all your energy.”

“Won’t, promise,” Stiles said unthinkingly. Derek paused and Stiles stared at him. “Don’t stop. Please, Der.” He touched Derek’s face gently. “We need this.”

Derek closed his eyes and turned his head, kissing Stiles’ fingers. When his eyes opened they were shining blue. 

Stiles’ breath caught. 

“Lie back and don’t move.”

Quick as he could, so Derek wouldn’t have time to change his mind, Stiles was lying on the mattress, hands by his sides. There was soft chuckling above him and Derek’s hands stilled his squirming hips. 

“Don’t move,” Derek told him again.

With a slow finesse that had him breathing shallowly with want, Derek grew claws and ripped a line up Stiles’ t-shirt, divesting him of it with a few well-placed cuts.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered, hips lifting up into Derek’s hands as he pulled Stiles’ jeans and under-ware down his legs. 

“You’re moving,” Derek warned, taking his own jeans off. “You want me to continue, you’ll stay still.”

“How the hell do I do that??” Stiles complained.

Derek was naked and climbing over Stiles as he gave a heavy look of satisfaction. “Figure it out, or this stops.” He reached for Stiles’ backpack and opened a side pocket. 

Lube was removed and Stiles breathed out a laugh, trying to contain it lest Derek though he was moving too much. One clawed hand trailed down his chest and he shivered in reaction.

Claws retracting, Derek kneeled over Stiles’ legs and pressed lubed fingers into himself. His eyes fluttered and a groan came out that Stiles wanted to catch with his mouth, but he wasn’t allowed to move or this beautiful show would end, so he lay there trembling with suppressed motion as Derek slowly fingered himself.

“Fuck,” Stiles said again.

“Yes,” Derek said, voice deep and wanting. “Fuck me.” 

The world got very still as Derek lowered himself down. Stiles groaned at the feeling of heat sliding, pressing and moulding to his dick as Derek opened up for him.

“Oh, God, Derek, fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

An aborted thrust had Derek giving Stiles a warning look. Taking his wrists in a firm grip, Derek placed Stiles’ hands above his head. Holding him there, Derek was inches away from Stiles’ face and all he wanted was a kiss.

“Please,” Stiles begged, angling his mouth, “Der…”

“Shhh, you’re not to exert yourself, remember?” 

The tease was too much and Stiles lifted his head. 

Derek moved back. “Uh-uh. Last warning.”

Stiles dropped his head back down. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Nope.” Derek moved then, setting up a slow rocking that had Stiles sliding in and out of Derek’s ass without him doing a thing.

Stiles almost choked on his spit, hands flexing in Derek’s grip. 

Derek bumped their noses together. “No moving,” he said.

“Wha—”

An open mouth gave Derek easy access, and Stiles blinked as he was assaulted with hot lips and wet tongue. On complete instinct, he kissed back, only to find the wet heat leaving and breath ghosting across his face. 

Derek continued rocking, slow and sure, turning Stiles into a complete mess of highly strung nerves, wanting nothing more than to move, to reciprocate the pleasure being lavished on him. 

“Der …” he panted as Derek moved the kissing down his neck. “Der …” There wasn’t anything else he could say.

Derek hummed against the claim mark, making Stiles squeak as he tried desperately to stay still. 

“My fae,” Derek breathed out, a careful fang running a line across the raised scar tissue. “Mine.” 

Locking their fingers together where they still rested above Stiles’ head, Derek started pushing down harder, getting Stiles deeper, squeezing his muscles on the up-drag. “Keep breathing,” he ordered, and Stiles sucked in a lungful of air. 

Trembling from head to toe, Stiles’ eyes fluttered and he stared up at the cellar roof over Derek’s shoulder. Fangs ever-so-gently held him captive, several points of sharpness against his neck making his eyes roll back in his head. The claim was open and wanting and full of fire on both sides, overlapping each other and washing over Stiles until all he was aware of were the places he was attached to Derek; hands, neck, and dick. His nerves locked up and his orgasm washed through him, oddly gentle compared to the build up. It went on and on, one long slide into a feeling of completeness that was echoed back by Derek as he tensed up around Stiles’ dick. At the last second, the pressure of fangs left Stiles’ neck and Derek yelled out. Wet heat spilled between them and Stiles managed a smile, eyes closing as his heart started to slow.

“Jesus,” Derek huffed out, forehead resting on Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles slipped his hands free and wrapped his arms around Derek’s back, stroking softly. “Wow”, he said, thinking over what had just happened.

Derek settled next to him with one arm over Stiles’ waist. “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes unshadowed and bright as they travelled over Stiles’ face, coming back to lock gazes once more. “My fae.”

“Always,” Stiles agreed, noting how light and also how very smug Derek was feeling before the claim settled into the back of his mind once again.

Derek made a noise of contentment, hugging Stiles tight.

***

“Do you automatically know the name of every tree as soon as you see it?” Derek asked the next day.

Stiles opened one eye and looked up at Derek from where he sat on the snow in a meditative pose. “Where did that question come from?” He was not meditating in the true sense of the word, rather just indulging in some air-traveling around the grove while Derek watched on. It was quite freeing, leaving him calm and relaxed if not a little tired. Something he hid from Derek because it wasn’t that big a deal.

Derek shrugged. “It’s just something I always wondered.”

Stiles stood up and stretched. “It doesn’t work like that. Sure, I learn about its life, how it’s connected to the trees around it, the earth, the seasons and what have you, but I don’t get an encyclopedic list of human knowledge. Trees don’t see themselves like that.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Derek conceded. “It’s just a bit strange that you have an insight hardly anyone else has, yet there are others out there who know stuff you don’t.”

“I don’t need to know what the trees are called,” Stiles replied. “What good would that do me?”

“Could help you in a job.”

Stiles blinked in shock. “A job?” He considered Derek carefully while his wolf looked away. “Holy crap,” Stiles exclaimed as it dawned on him, “you have Future Plans!”

“What? No,” Derek answered, sounding more like Stiles than himself. 

“When did you have time to make them?” Stiles was intrigued.

Derek sighed. “When I was in the telluric current.”

“You remember that much?” Stiles had assumed the memories would be more like a dream.

“I remember everything.” Fingering the chain for the black tourmaline crystal he still wore around his neck, Derek admitted, “I couldn’t find a way out on my own, though I tried. Time was strange and twisted inside the current and I got bored.”

“You got bored?”

“Sure. I was there for a while.”

That was certainly true.

“So I got to thinking, if we ever got a break and could just live our lives without anyone trying to kill us, what would we do?” Derek paused, unease creeping into his expression.

“What did you decide on?” Stiles walked over to him. “I’d like to know.”

Looking somewhat embarrassed, Derek said, “I thought I’d try wood working. I liked fixing the cabin.”

“What, like carpentry?” Stiles immediately thought of the beams in the cabin and the framing along the windows. Derek had even made the round table used in the library area.

“Yeah, but not houses, just, maybe furniture and stuff.”

Stiles tipped his head a little in order to catch Derek’s eye. “I like it, I can see it.”

“You can?” Derek looked up at him, hopeful. “You don’t think it’s …”

Stiles smiled gently, wanting his wolf to feel at ease about the amazing skills he possessed. “I think it sounds amazing. If it’s something you want, I’ll help you achieve it.”

They shared a smile, Derek reaching out to run a hand along Stiles’ arm. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “I think it could work.”

“What about me?” Stiles asked carefully. “What did you see me doing?” As he had no plans for his future beyond staying alive and healing the Tree, he had no idea what Derek saw him fit for.

“I thought you’d be more negative about this if I brought it up,” Derek said.

Stiles pulled a face. “Dad spoke to you about school, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles rubbed a hand on one leg. “It’s not happening.”

“Even if it meant you could do something connected to trees and nature?”

“I already do things connected to that.”

“You don’t get paid for it,” Derek pointed out. “It’s going to look rather strange in a few years, you not working, if you want to remain hidden from hunter eyes.”

“Maybe I’m too ill to work?” Stiles suggested. “I could get a medical pass, PTSD from Brine’s kidnapping. I could pull it off.” He didn’t have to say how very easy it would be, as he wouldn’t be lying at all to accomplish it.

“If that’s what you think is best,” Derek answered patiently. “But it’s not something you have to think about right now. You have time.”

Stiles thought of all the time that was in his future and his heart felt heavy. 

“Hey, no, don’t worry about it,” Derek said, misinterpreting what he was picking up in Stiles’ scent.

Forcing a smile, Stiles took his hand. “It’s good to have plans.” He didn’t want Derek believing they had no merit. “You’d make a good carpenter.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles nodded. “You’re good with your hands.” He pressed into Derek’s side. “You can bend and mould me into any shape you want.”

Derek’s grip was hard as he held Stiles’ close. “What if I want to bend you over right here?”

“Have at me.”

Their kiss was demanding and deep, Stiles grabbing at Derek’s hair and pulling, getting a low growl in response and knowing it meant ‘keep going’.

“Really??” yelled a voice from across the grove. “Do you two ever come up for air when you’re alone or do you just bonk like rabbits all the time? You know what, on second thought, don’t answer that!”

Stiles broke out of the kiss and turned on the person. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Cue stepped into the grove clearing, looking somewhat sheepish for all of his rude words. “Well, it’s kind of like this —”

“Actually, Cue, you know what? I don’t care what it’s like,” Stiles interrupted. “You can’t just turn up here, I told you that!” He stopped his rant as he registered who else was there, standing behind the trees. “What the fuck?! Cue!”

“Just listen, Stiles, there’s a reason why we’re all here —”

“Get the hell gone, and take him with you!” Stiles pointed to Deaton who was standing next to Scott and Lydia, staring at the Nemeton. “I can’t believe any of you thought I’d be okay with this!”

“Your phone’s not working, bro,” Scott said, interrupting Stiles’ rant. “Neither is Derek’s, and this is something you need to hear sooner rather than later.”

Derek mumbled out of the side of his mouth, “Best just to let them explain things.”

Clenching his jaw shut, Stiles flashed his fae eyes at Deaton. “You try anything while you’re here and you’re in for a world of hurt,” he warned, then motioned them into the clearing. “So what’s this thing I desperately need to know?”

“Deaton’s figured out how to heal the Nemeton.” Scott pointed to the druid, them himself and Lydia. “We can do it, if you let us.”

Deaton stopped his visual examination of the Tree and turned to Stiles. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll explain in more detail.”

Stiles wanted to outright refuse, still pissed that Cue’d been tricked into bringing the druid into the grove, but Derek wasn’t objecting so he let it slide.

“If the Tree requires numerous sacrifices in order to heal, it stands to reason those sacrifices should be given freely,” Deaton began. “Balance can be achieved by using people with as many different backgrounds as possible.” He pointed at Scott then Lydia. “A True Alpha werewolf and banshee gives both shapeshifter and witch magic.” 

“And you’d be the druid connection,” Stiles guessed. “No thanks.” 

“I understand your reluctance,” Deaton said. “But you may have no other choice.”

“So you say.” What Deaton was proposing wasn't that surprising to Stiles for some reason, something about it being very familiar. He just couldn't think why.

“Stiles, just shut it for a bit, yeah?” Cue interrupted. “Let the man talk.”

“Even without my being connected, the Tree should heal quite nicely with Scott and Lydia’s help,” Deaton said.

“You’re deluded if you think I’m going to connect you guys to the Tree,” Stiles announced. “There’s no way, you have no idea what it could do to you!” The very idea caused his nerves to twinge.

With a nod to Cue, Deaton added, “Our human element is already in place and showing no detrimental signs by being connected in such a way.”

Stiles opened and shut his mouth a few times, trying to think of how to explain the danger without having to admit to what happened to Brine. “No, I won’t do it.”

“I don’t think there’s any other way,” Scott persisted. “I want you to get better, you and the Nemeton, and not just so Beacon Hills is safer from evil. I hate seeing you like this.”

“You don’t understand, Scott,” Stiles told him. “None of you do.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Sighing in exasperation, Stiles looked skyward. “I can’t! Just … please believe me when I say it’s not as simple as Deaton’s telling you it is. There’s a huge risk and just because Cue somehow turned out okay, doesn’t mean it’ll happen for you guys!”

“We’re willing to take the risk,” Lydia spoke up. “I want to do this, Stiles.”

“So am I, no matter what may happen,” Scott added.

“Well, I’m not!” Stiles yelled, frustration finally becoming too much. “It won’t work! Don’t ask me to risk your lives for some stupid idea of his!” He jabbed a finger at Deaton while glaring at the druid. “I thought you’d want to protect Scott at least, not set things up so I can kill him!”

Deaton looked at Stiles carefully. “Do you believe that’s what will happen?”

“I know it will!” Stiles flung his hands up. “I’ve seen what happens when someone gives themselves freely to the Tree. It doesn’t end well for them!”

“Are you talking about yourself?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Stiles sneered, backtracking. “Let this stupid idea go. You want to figure something else out? Fine, you do that. But not this. Never this.”

“Is it a trust thing?” Lydia asked, frowning. “Don’t you trust us enough?”

“Trust?” Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of him. “Where was the trust when you stole from me?” 

Lydia flinched. “I didn’t know Liam would give the bow and arrows to Argent, I swear. I took them to help you. I wanted to know what was going on and I though they might be a clue.”

Stiles jumped on the first bit of her confession. “Liam gave them to Argent?”

Lydia and Scott shared a look, Lydia nodding. “He was very angry at you. When I told the pack who’s bow and arrows they were, he said you had them because you’d killed Gavin Brine.”

Derek looked sideways at Stiles, who made sure not to react at all.

“He’s sorry for what he did,” Scott said. “He didn’t know Derek found them in the camp. It was a misunderstanding.”

Finding out Lydia hadn’t betrayed him was a huge relief, but as Liam was spot on with his belief, Stiles didn’t really want to talk about it any further. “Okay,” he said. “I understand.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s not like I gave Liam reasons to trust me.” He sent Lydia a small smile. “We’re good.”

Her face cleared. “We are?”

“Yep.”

“But you still won’t let me help heal the Nemeton?” Lydia wasn’t giving up.

“Why do you want to risk your life for this?” Stiles shot back.

“I trust you to keep me safe.”

“So do I,” Scott agreed.

“I do, too,” Cue added. “Just so you know that. Plus, I’m fine and being connected to the tree feels kinda awesome.” He wilted a bit when Stiles looked at him flatly. “Just saying.”

“You’re all idiots,” Stiles announced. “You’re going to keep pushing this, aren’t you?”

The three of them nodded.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, looking at his wolf and trying to portray how much he didn’t want to have to keep fighting them on it.

“I think we should consider what they’re saying,” Derek said. “We don’t have to make a decision right now, but don’t shoot it down totally.”

Stiles bit his lip and nodded. “Fine.” He’d just say no later on.

“We’ll give it some thought,” Derek told everyone. 

“Unfortunately, you don’t have time.” Deaton looked as apologetic as he ever did, which wasn’t a lot. “You’re feeling the draining effects of the Tree again, aren’t you?”

Stiles didn’t reply.

Deaton hummed like Stiles had confirmed his suspicion. “And the void is possibly harder to control as well, isn’t that right?”

That was something Stiles really didn’t want to admit to, but with Derek taking on a blank-faced expression and the claim becoming quiet as he hid what he was feeling, Stiles found himself nodding reluctantly. “You’re not at any risk,” he told everyone, hoping to allay any fears they may have. “I won’t hurt any of you.”

“We’re not thinking that,” Lydia said. “Not even close.”

“This is why you don’t have time to make a choice,” Deaton reminded Stiles. “If you don’t wish to go down the path of willing sacrifices, I’ll try to figure out something more to your liking, but I don’t think there’s another way. At least, not one I’ll find before things become too difficult for you.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, shifting so his arm brushed up against Stiles.

“The Tree has manifested back on the physical plane,” Deaton answered. “The tainted magic is therefor more accessible than it was before and it’s created a risk that someone will take the opportunity to do just that.” He turned to Stiles. “You’ve seen for yourself that you can’t keep everyone out. They will find the Tree if they want it badly enough.”

“You mean druids.”

“Yes, but also supernaturals, people with agendas, any and all, such as we’ve seen before. If you’re too weak to fight them off, they will use you to gain mastery of the Nemeton. Then the dream portents I told you of could very likely come true.”

“I thought your dreams were about the fae and the Summation,” Scott said. “And we stopped that.”

“The very nature of future dreaming is one of flux and change. The dreams may have been about the Summation, but they may also have been about another threat or perhaps just a warning of what could happen unless balance is restored. We may never know exactly.”

“So in order for Stiles to be safe, we need to fix the tree as soon as possible?” Cue asked. He turned to Stiles. “Do it then, join Scott and Lydia!”

“It’s not that simple,” Derek admonished. “It’s possible the Nemeton will take their lives. It could have taken yours.”

Cue looked to Stiles. “That true?”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck then addressed Scott and Lydia. “The truth is, the Tree won’t see you as anything other than energy to be taken and used. I hid Cue, made him look like me, so the Tree would heal him. I don’t know why the connection between them stayed once I took him out. It shouldn’t have.”

“You used your magic and the Tree’s to bring about his healing, didn’t you,” Deaton surmised.

“Yes.”

“Then we also run the risk of you becoming too weak after the joining to ward off any threat that may eventuate. If we do this, we will have to time it perfectly so you can rest and regain your strength.”

“How long would he need?” Derek asked.

“His energy is already low, lower than I would like by the looks of it.” Deaton gave Stiles a look that had the others copying him, Stiles bristling at the considering glances they gave one another. “I suggest he will need a day to gain back what he has already lost and that’s before we even try the sacrifices. Afterwards, it will take time to see if the Tree’s imbalance has been rectified. This won’t be a quick physical fix for Stiles, I’m afraid, no matter how we go about it.”

Derek’s arm brushed against Stiles again as his wolf shifted his stance. “Is the threat you speak of actually here, or is it hypothetical?” 

“Hypothetical, but this is Beacon Hills so I think it’s safe to say trouble will come before too long.”

“But it’s not here right now, is it?” Derek pushed.

Deaton shook his head.

“Alright, so he can rest up, we can do the sacrifice, heal the Nemeton and Stiles will be okay.” 

Stiles bristled. “I'm right here, you know. Talk to me, not about me! I didn’t even say I’d do it! In fact, I said I wouldn’t!”

“You agreed to think about it,” Lydia reminded him. “Do that while you rest.”

“I don’t need rest! I’m fine!”

“You really aren’t,” Lydia refuted. “Stop being stubborn.”

Stiles cried out in frustration, flinging his arms up in the air. “I’m not being stubborn! You’re the ones trying to pressure me into something I don’t want to do!”

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek advised, taking hold of his shoulders.

“I am breathing!!”

“Calm down then. You’re becoming distraught and there’s no need.”

“Then stop pressuring me!”

Derek rolled his eyes before cupping Stiles’ face and leaning in. Stiles blinked in surprise through the kiss then started to relax, kissing back. 

Derek pulled back with one last gentle press of lips. “Better?”

Stiles made an affirmative noise in his throat. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you need to rest more.”

Stiles groaned.

“And when you’re ready, Deaton will have more information about the sacrifice.” Derek gave Deaton a look, to which the druid nodded in agreement.

“It could kill them, Derek,” Stiles said.

“I don’t think it will.”

“But …” Stiles trailed off. As the others were there, he couldn’t bring up Brine’s death as evidence as to how things could go. 

“You’ll keep them safe. If you believe, then you can do it.”

Stiles looked sideways at Scott and Lydia. It could go so horribly wrong and he would be responsible.

“I trust you,” Derek said. “Just like they do.” 

Scott and Lydia smiled reassuringly at him.

Having anyone trust him when he didn’t trust himself was not something Stiles was all that comfortable with. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to get rid of the weight that seemed to settle on them. When it didn’t work and he only felt more constricted the longer everyone waited for his answer, he reluctantly grumbled, “Fine!” 

“It’ll all work out, Stiles,” Scott told him. “You’ll see.”

***

Being forced to do nothing was never going to go well for Stiles and if anyone had been thinking about it, they’d have realized that. There was no way he was going to take the herbal concoction of Deaton’s again in order to sleep, so it was all on him to get what rest he could. 

“This is stupid,” Stiles mumbled, thumping the blow-up mattress with one fist.

Derek mumbled beside him and turned over, sleeping through the night like the millions of other people in the world. Stiles would begrudge him that, but he knew Derek had his own share of sleepless nights, many of which were Stiles’ fault.

Giving up on sleeping, even though he was tired, Stiles crawled off the mattress and walked up the cellar stairs into the clearing with a fair idea of who he was going to meet when he got up there. 

“Hey,” he greeted the fae without surprise.

“Well-met, dear heart,” the fae replied. “You knew we were here.”

“Guess so.”

“That is good. You are progressing in skill.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed, not all that impressed right then. “I need to talk to you.”

“We know.” The fae dipped its head. “It is why we are here.”

“I need to talk to you,” Stiles repeated, “without you trying anything. I need you to answer my questions truthfully. You owe me that.”

“That is questionable in itself, but we will comply.” In a very human-like move, the fae leant against the trunk of the Tree, crossing its arms over its chest. “To what do you want answers?”

“If I wanted to heal the Tree by using people, without killing them, could I do it?”

The fae’s face ever-so-slightly rippled in distaste, the emotion shining in its hard eyes, but its answer was calm and unaffected in tone. “It would be possible.”

“Really?” Stiles took a moment to reorder his thoughts, not actually expecting the fae to agree. “How would I go about it?”

The fae sighed. “Is it really your plan, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, to infect the Tree with outsiders?”

Stiles pulled a face, somewhat in agreement. “It doesn’t feel right to me either. But it could be the only way to do it.”

“We could wait for the time to be right once more, for the Summation to again be upon us,” the fae mused, “but to wait another span of time, only for the Summation to once again fail would be highly irritating.” The fae dropped its arms and pushed away from the Tree. “What do you propose?”

“To connect willing people to the Tree, using their magic and energy to somehow stabilize the tainted magic, and bring back balance through co-operation.”

“We assume these people are to be alive afterwards?” the fae queried, “Not sacrificed completely as your first was?”

“No, not like Brine. They’d be living their normal lives, just also connected to the Tree.”

“Do you wish to shorten their lives or prolong them?”

Stiles blinked. “That’s an option?”

The fae smiled. “It depends on how you connect them. Their energy and magic would be used for the Tree’s benefit either way but it would be possible to achieve a balance wherein they are also recipients of the Tree’s own energy and magic, much as you are.”

“They’d gain magic?” Thinking of Cue with magic was not something Stiles wanted to dwell on.

“It would be part of them but not accessible by them. They would be part of the Tree itself, allowing a measure of protection that translates into longer lives. Something which would benefit the Tree in the long run as they would continue to provide energy for it in return. A mutualism symbiotic relationship, if you will.”

Stiles was stuck on one major point. “If I connect people, they would live longer?”

The fae gave him a knowing look. “It would not be as long as us, for we are endless, but their lives would be greatly enlarged and not just through years.”

“What else would they gain?” The enthusiasm that had started to grow in Stiles dampened a bit with the idea there might be side effects that could be potentially less helpful than a longer life span.

“Hard to say,” the fae said with an elusive smirk. “But they can not join with the Tree and not be changed.”

“But nothing bad, right?”

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, your need to protect would be admirable if not for the subjects you choose.”

“Don’t start,” Stiles told it. “I’m trying to help the Tree and I won’t apologize for not wanting to kill anyone else to do it!”

The fae held up its hands in a mock show of contriteness. “Are we correct in assuming you have chosen the people for sacrifice?”

“They chose it themselves.”

The fae’s eyebrows raised in sharp slashes of surprise. “You will require our help to achieve your goal.”

That wasn’t something Stiles had thought of and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “But you can’t connect with the Tree like I can, can you?”

The fae shook its head. “We can not. But we can lend ourselves to you, help guide your magic to the end you seek. Add wisdom to offset ignorance.”

“Would you be in my mind?” Stiles asked, trying to cover how the thought made him feel ill.

“Do not fret overmuch, dear heart. You are well aware we have a connection that will never cease. We would only be using what already exists.”

“You won’t muck with my memories, or try to make me do things I don’t want to do?”

“Will us promising not to do so calm your thoughts?” the fae offered. “We do so promise not to do as we have before. You shall retain all memories, and we shall make no further overtures towards you which make you uncomfortable.”

Stiles sucked in a breath. “What?”

The fae tipped its head. “We are aware our actions have caused this rift between us. It was not our intention. We wish to remedy our folly.”

“You won’t …” Stiles swallowed. “You’ll stop …” He couldn’t say the words.

“We shall.” 

There was possibly all sorts of ways the fae could wrangle itself out of such a promise, but the relief in hearing it acknowledge the wrongness of its actions was so great, Stiles didn’t want to dwell on future probabilities.

“Okay, you can help,” he decided, but not without a little apprehension.

“We shall await your calling,” the fae said, disappearing out of the clearing. 

Stiles was betting it didn’t go far.

***


	21. The Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration, interrupted.

“So we’re doing this?” Scott gave Stiles a hopeful look.

“Yes, Scott, that’s why you’re here,” Stiles told him for the third time. 

The morning had dawned bright and clear, Derek waking up to Stiles asking if he could get everyone to the grove before midday. Derek had complied, somewhat surprised, and now he, Scott, Lydia and Cue were in the grove waiting for Stiles to tell them what was what. Deaton had been left out of the loop and Stiles was thankful everyone understood why.

“Do we just stand here, or is there something more to this?” Lydia asked, giving the Nemeton a cursory glance.

“I need to ask you guys if you’re really sure. And to get Cue to tell you what it’s like being connected to the Tree,” Stiles explained. “My connection is way deeper than the one you’ll have so you can’t go by how things are for me.”

“No offense, Stiles, but I wouldn’t be saying yes if it was going to be like that,” Scott said. “The whole fae-thing you have going on is way too weird, even for me.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused rather than furiously insulted as he would have been before. “No offense taken.”

Lydia flicked Scott on the arm. “Shut up before you say something you can’t take back.”

Stiles waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I know what he meant.” 

Smiling widely, Scott looked like he wanted to stick his tongue out at Lydia. “Yeah, Stiles and I are back to being cool, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Scott, we’re the coolest,” Stiles deadpanned.

“Boys,” Lydia mumbled, rolling her eyes, but Stiles could tell she was pleased.

“Men,” he corrected her. “Or one at least,” he added, pointing to himself before nudging Scott. “This one’s still a baby for at least seven months.”

Scott shoved him back, but his grin was even bigger than before.

Derek shook his head as if he was above it all, so Stiles poked him in the side where he knew Derek was ticklish, getting a scowl and a flinch in return. There was a smile in Derek’s eyes though and Stiles caught it.

Cue on the other hand was scowling, looking between Scott and Stiles, eyes hardening. “So, we doing this or what?”

Stiles sobered somewhat, but the ease between him and Scott remained. Stiles welcomed it with figurative open arms. That Scott was willing to look beyond all the asshole things he’d done the past few months was an amazing thing. 

“Can you explain the differences you’ve noticed in yourself now you’re connected to the Nemeton?” Lydia asked Cue, going so far as to take out a notepad and pen from her handbag. Stiles smiled at the sight of it.

Cue blinked at Lydia, a slight blush showing behind the freckles on his nose. 

Derek gave Stiles a telling look, and Stiles felt so old remembering how he used to feel when confronted with just how intelligent Lydia actually was.

“Um,” Cue answered. “I can see Stiles’ magic now, which is pretty cool. And the Tree talks to me, kinda.”

“How?” Lydia started writing.

“Not so much in words cause it doesn’t really think?” Cue looked at Stiles. “Dude, I don’t know how to explain it.”

Taking pity on him, Stiles tapped on his own chest. “You can feel it inside yourself?”

Cue nodded.

“And there’s an urge to be here, to spend time with it.” That wasn’t a guess as Cue had told Stiles it was so.

Cue sighed and smiled. “Yeah. Being here, it’s like I’m able to breathe easier.”

“You can’t breathe when you’re not here?” Scott said in alarm.

“No,” Cue scoffed. “Just that things don’t feel all that good with the tree and when I’m here, I feel like I’m doing the right thing for it.”

Lydia nodded as she wrote. “Stiles said the Nemeton was tainted. You’re probably feeling it when you’re outside the grove and when you’re here the feeling eases because of proximity.”

“Sure,” Cue agreed, looking like he’d say yes to anything Lydia said right then.

“Let’s just do this thing,” Scott announced. “We’ll deal with any difficulties as they arise.”

“You’re just an inspiring leader today,” Stiles told him. “Listen to that devil-may-care talk. I like it. It reminds me of me.”

“Why, thank you,” Scott said.

“Were they always like this?” Cue asked Derek, loosing his wide-eyed look for one of being vastly unimpressed.

“Worse. They’ve grown up. Somewhat.”

“Boys,” Lydia interrupted, giving Stiles a stern look. “Enough procrastinating. We’ve all agreed to go ahead with the plan so let’s stop wasting my time. I’ve got a blister forming on my heal and I want out of these shoes.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Stiles gave her a flippant salute, but then he paused. “There’s just one thing I haven’t told any of you.”

“What’s that?”

“That would be our expertise being lent to this enterprise,” the fae replied, walking around from behind the trunk of the Nemeton. “Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, as you are unsure how to explain the necessity of our compliance, we have decided to make our presence known.”

Derek grabbed Stiles, pulling him none too gently behind him. His face shifted and a dangerous sounding growl emerged through his fangs while his eyes flashed and stayed brilliantly blue. 

Scott was no better, shifting and flanking Derek on his right. Even Lydia took on a fighting stance, making sure Cue was behind her.

Stiles sighed and touched Derek on the back. “Don’t freak out. A promise has been made and accepted.”

The fae dipped its chin, mouth twitching as if it was amused by the display before it. “We are not of a mind to harm what is ours,” it said, causing Derek to tense even further. “And though we did not agree to your safety, we shall do so now. We promise no retribution shall be taken against those who stand before us. We are here purely to lend assistance to our changeling fae in order to heal the Tree.”

Derek turned his head and looked at Stiles over his shoulder. The shock he displayed had Stiles wanting to apologize profusely, but it wasn’t the time for it. Instead, he pushed past Derek and Scott to stand before the fae.

“Thank you for helping.”

“Why are you helping?” Scott growled. “Just because you promised not to hurt us doesn’t mean we trust you.”

“The plan to heal the Tree has merit.” A curl of displeasure twisted the fae’s mouth. “It may not be as we had hoped to achieve it, but Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles has convinced us.”

“You’re not needed here,” Derek growled, coming to stand by Stiles’ side. “Stiles can do this on his own.”

“That he can not,” the fae disagreed. “Not, and make sure you are not victim to the Tree’s voracious need for energy.” It’s face lightened. “Shall we leave you to be sucked dry? We have no qualms in doing so, only our dear heart made it clear he does not wish for this outcome.”

“I’m not being connected to the Nemeton,” Derek refuted angrily. 

“Are you not?” The fae sent Stiles an interested glance. “Curious.”

“I’m connected to Stiles already,” Derek told it. “Connected enough to know he needs someone who’s not going to be influenced by the tree. He needs an impartial witness to anything that may happen.”

“We do not think you are impartial in any way,” the fae replied. “But we admire your strength of belief in yourself, misguided though it is.”

Derek growled again.

“Come, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the fae said, ignoring the threat and holding out its hand. “Let us begin.” It cocked its head. “Unless you have chosen another more enlightened way to achieve the Tree’s healing?”

Stiles hated the fae’s assuredness that he would do as it said, especially while everyone was looking to him to do the right thing. “This is what everyone wanted,” he reminded the group. “I can’t do it alone, it’s too difficult. I’d end up killing you.”

“Do you trust it?” Lydia asked, eyeing the fae as if it weren’t naked and standing there completely sure in itself.

“I trust the promises given won’t be broken,” Stiles said.

“Good enough.”

The fae wiggled its outstretched fingers. “Dear heart,” it said, eyes as flat and unreflective as it’s voice. 

Stiles really didn’t want to move. The very idea of touching the fae’s flesh was frankly nauseating and made his heart thump fast. Both Scott and Derek shot him worried looks, but to stop any further discussion, Stiles swallowed and with great reluctance, walked over to the fae and took its hand.

“Do not fret,” the fae whispered to him. “We honor our bond, and our word is as such.” Raising its voice, it addressed the others. “You are required to touch Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.” 

Scott and Lydia came forward, Scott placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder while Lydia took his free hand. Derek stayed with Cue, who had been very quiet and still since the fae had announced its presence.

The fae eyed him. “We seem to remember you dying. Yet here you are, hearty and whole. And a connected sacrifice to the Tree, unless we are mistaken.” Its gaze travelled to Stiles. “It seems our changeling has not been as upfront in some respects as he should have been.” 

It wasn’t a question as such but Stiles answered anyway. “It was a fluke, I wasn’t trying to connect him permanently.”

The fae hummed. “Then you too shall be part of this,” it told Cue. “Come and join your family, young one.”

“Family?” Cue squeaked out, clearing his throat and keeping his gaze off the fae as he walked closer, reaching out to touch Stiles’ forearm.

“What else are you,” the fae said with a slight mocking, “when you will all be part of the Tree for such a long time to come?”

“Long time to come?” Scott echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

Stiles pursed his lips, glancing away.

The fae laughed, tipping its head back, its throat working as it took delight in Stiles’ reluctance to explain. “Dear heart, fighting who you are while also embracing it with such ease! Your penchant for secrecy endeared you to us even before we changed you.” To Scott it said, “The Tree shall gift those connected to it with longer lives.” It smirked at Derek who glowered back. “Yet even with this gifting our changeling shall outlive you all, for fae live many years beyond what humans and even shifters experience.”

Everyone looked at Stiles, taking in what the fae had just told them. Stiles only had interest in one person. Apologetic, he said to his wolf, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek replied stiltedly. His hands were fisted by his sides and it was very obvious how not okay things were.

The fae’s smirk got wider, slashing its mouth nearly from ear to ear. “Close your eyes, dear heart, and open your mind.”

***

A tapestry of energies was being created within the Tree. That was the easiest, yet also vaguest, way to explain the magic Stiles was performing. Scott and Lydia were tangled webs he had to somehow fit within the Tree’s matrix. It had to be done in such a way they wouldn’t be seen as outsiders but their autonomy would continue. Stiles didn’t want them so entwined with the Tree they became beholden to it. That was his reality, not theirs. 

Belief was a big factor in him succeeding without hurting anyone. Anxiety spurned that belief on, heightening it to a sharp edge, allowing his magic to flow seamlessly to where it needed to be, to manipulate energy in ways he couldn’t verbally explain but which he knew was the correct way to do it.

The fae helped as well. Stiles could feel it with him, a natural energy with the power to beguile him with ease. He found himself following the fae’s guidance without any doubt, delving into the Nemeton to encourage it to see two of his best friends as part of itself. Using the Tree’s magic as directed, Stiles’ anxiety dropped away as, together with the fae, he moulded the energies before them. 

For a while, Stiles was completely emerged in the tangled threads, pushing them this way and that as he sought to blend and twine, creating pathways as needed. Then, with a final flick of magic, he found there wasn’t anything else to do; Scott and Lydia were as connected as he wanted them to be, their energy flowing along within the Tree, its energy flowing back within them. 

Stiles felt like he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. The fae agreed, and they began the assent out of the Tree.

***

Opening his eyes, Stiles saw the multicolored light of the Tree, the same light that transformed Brine, Cue and the Nemeton wood pieces. The light dimmed, fading and sparking away to leave Scott, Lydia and Cue standing there looking at each other as if for the first time.

“So … that was interesting,” Stiles announced, feeling light headed. His magic felt floaty too, stretched and thin.

“Is everything alright?” Derek asked, frown firmly in place.

“Sure.” A bone-deep lethargy made Stiles sit down heavily in the snow. “I’m just gonna sit for a while.”

Derek crouched down near him, pushing his hair back off his face with one hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep.” Stiles leant into Derek, appreciating the arm that came up around him. “But if you could just stay right there, that'd be good.”

“You need rest,” the fae told him, peering down from above.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, closing his eyes once more.

***

Stiles woke up on snow-free ground, sitting against the Nemeton’s trunk. “God,” he said, rubbing at his head. “How long was I out?” He felt so tired, like he had when he’d first woken up in the hospital after Brine kidnapped him.

“Not long enough,” the fae answered, from where it sat beside him crossed-legged. “But it was necessary for us to talk without unwanted complications.” It lifted its chin, indicating to where Scott, Lydia and Cue lay crumpled on the ground a few feet from the Tree. Derek was closer, within touching distance.

“You didn’t hurt them, did you?” Stiles asked.

“No, we did not. Merely incapacitated them for a while.” The fae rocked its head on its shoulders. “We find them tedious and superfluous.”

“They’ll be okay?” Stiles would be a lot more animated about things if only he wasn’t so tired.

“As they were, so shall they be. But Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, we did not wake you to talk about them.”

Stiles pulled a face, each movement taking a great amount of thinking to achieve. “Why did you?”

The fae held up one of its long pointy fingers. “Can you not feel it?” Its eyes were shining bright, its skin rippling with slate-gray sky and green shady valleys.

Head falling back, Stiles looked up, seeing the branches of the Nemeton soaring above him. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, wow.”

The fae smiled. “You have done it, dear heart, as we knew you would.”

Stiles was silent, unable to voice what he was sensing.

The Tree was healing. Not growing physically as it had been before with each new soul, but actually healing. The taint was slowly but surely changing, leaving clean, neutral magic behind. Balanced magic. Swayed not to any particular peoples, the Tree was becoming what it had once been.

A hand gently brushed away the tears that were falling down Stiles’ cheek and he blinked, watching the fae slowly move back. It’s face was kinder than Stiles ever remembered it being. “Time will tell if all is well, but for now, celebrations are in order,” it said. “Come with us, dear heart. We will teach you everything you wish to know as you gain back your strength.”

Stiles shook his head slowly, the euphoria he was experiencing not completely hiding just how tired he actually was. “That’s never going to happen. You know it.”

The fae dropped its eyes. 

“Just be my friend,” Stiles asked of it, wanting to put the past behind him.

The fae’s head came up. “Friend?”

“You’re not so removed from everything that you don’t know what I mean,” Stiles said. “Just a friend; someone who teaches, helps, and is kind because they care.”

“We do care.”

“Then be my friend.”

The fae looked off into the distance and Stiles didn’t even try to keep up with the expressions that flittered over its face, too numerous were they to name them all even if he had been capable of thinking without exhaustion weighing down his brain.

“We would very much like to be your friend, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the fae finally said, looking back at him. “It would please us greatly.”

Stiles smiled a small tired smile. “Good.”

The fae stood quickly, Stiles not looking up so he wouldn’t get an eye-full of swaying body parts. “We shall be available to you, should you need us,” it said, stepping back to a more suitable distance.

“Cool,” Stiles said. “Thank you.”

The fae tipped it head, bowing at the middle in a slow graceful bend. “Thank you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, for a multitude of things.”

It vanished. 

As soon as it did, the others started to move, stretching out limbs and lifting themselves off the ground. Derek shot up like a rocket, noticeably relaxing when he saw Stiles close by.

“It’s okay, big guy,” Stiles said. “The fae left and the Tree’s healing.”

“It worked?” Derek pulled Stiles up by a hand, helping him to stay upright when he wobbled.

“Seems like it.” Stiles’ legs didn’t want to hold him up. “Don’t let go.”

“Never,” Derek replied with a smile.

“Oh, God, don’t start, please,” Cue complained coming to stand with them. He looked at Scott and Lydia when they joined them. “So weird,” he stated.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, turning his gaze on Cue, Lydia and Stiles in turn, inspecting each of them intently.

Lydia nodded. “Very weird.”

“What’s weird?” Stiles asked, leaning on Derek heavily.

“I can feel all of you,” Scott said. “And I can feel the Nemeton.” His eyes strayed towards it, full of a strange kind of awe.

“I can too,” Lydia added, tapping the side of her head. “Little bits inside my head like seeds.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t explain it any better.”

“Mine’s in my heart,” Scott said, touching his chest. “Like the pack, only very separate. You’re right, it’s hard to explain.” He gave Stiles a smile. “I guess not everything is easy to talk about, even if you want to, huh?”

Stiles snorted tiredly. “Yeah.”

“We’re going home,” Derek stated, lifting Stiles off his feet before he could even make a noise of surprise, cradling him bridal style.

Cue started laughing.

“Shut up, Cue,” Derek snapped. “He’s about to fall back asleep, can’t you tell? Doing this has drained him.”

Cue sobered immediately. “Sorry.” 

Stiles didn’t really care whether Cue laughed at him or not, he was more interested in leaning his cheek against Derek’s shoulder and feeling the sun on his skin.

***

The next three days crawled by for Stiles. He was relegated to the sofa, unable to do the most basic things for himself due to the mother-henning of his wolf. Derek even resorted to growling at Stiles the first and only time he tried to go to the bathroom without assistance in getting there. 

Interestingly, sleep became hard to pin down after the initial five hours he’d had when Derek carried him out of the forest. Stiles couldn’t stop thinking, or connecting with the Tree to follow its healing progress. Derek did his best to get him to rest, even getting his laptop from his dad’s so he could indulge in binge watching whatever he wanted. Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him he had no interest in it.

What he did enjoy and what he was doing at that moment, was lying in the sunlight on a patch of snow-free ground at the back of the cabin. Derek had shoveled the snow for him. Even though it didn’t matter if the ground was cold and wet to Stiles, he’d said nothing, merely watched his wolf working his way through the snow bank, knowing Derek needed to be doing something proactive to help in his healing process.

Speaking of, Stiles closed his eyes once more, stretching into the sunlight and sighing in contentment as his skin absorbed more light. 

He was feeling better. Not a hundred percent, but more than capable of walking for himself, though Derek didn’t think so, going so far as to carry Stiles outside for his sunbathing. He’d also been banned from using his magic; Deaton telling Derek any use would only help drain Stiles again while he was recovering. As his magic still felt sluggish and unresponsive, Stiles didn’t really care about the restriction, not even that Deaton had been the one to suggest it. 

The magic that did feel better was that of the Tree. The connections to Cue, Scott and Lydia were helping it along at a tremendous pace, far more than Stiles had expected. The Tree wouldn’t heal completely, needing more willing connections, but the balance was at least maintainable and for that, Stiles was optimistic. There were other people he could connect to the Tree; his dad for one and Melissa for another. It would have the upside of granting them longer lives, something he knew Scott would be up for. Stiles just had to find the right time to bring up the idea.

“Hey,” Derek greeted, coming to lay down beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Planning world domination.” Stiles turned his head, giving Derek a raised eyebrow. With a teasing smile, he added, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Planning world domination,” Derek replied. “Looks like I was right.”

“Do you want to help?” Stiles asked.

“It’d probably be best to wait for Summer,” Derek said in all seriousness. “Easier on the troops. We need to learn from history; Winter hurts invasions.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” Stiles turned his head to look back up at the sky, his smile turning contented. From the corner of his eye he could see Derek watching him. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking how lucky I am.” Derek traced the skin under Stiles’ eye with a finger. “You’re getting better.”

“Yup. No more headaches, hardly any tiredness. I’m all set.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard too soon.”

“I can walk, you know,” Stiles pointed out. “At least give me that.” 

Derek frowned slightly. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a bit …”

“Beautifully, wonderfully loving of me?” Stiles didn’t want Derek feeling bad just because he’d been a bit over-protective. “You know I don’t mind. But I can walk by myself.”

Derek chuckled. “Got it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the wind a small eddy that pushed the tree branches into a soft swaying above them. 

Stiles sighed again, taking a deep breath and letting it out, feeling so good in himself he just knew something bad was going to happen. But he wouldn’t let that dampen how he was feeling right then. 

“Your dad’s asked us around for dinner tonight,” Derek spoke up. “Everyone’s going to be there.”

Stiles looked at him. “Can we go?”

Derek chuckled again. “Never thought I’d be the one making your plans.”

“Our plans,” Stiles corrected.

Derek’s expression softened and grew fond. “Our plans. Yeah, we can go. If you’re up for it.”

Stiles sat up, stretching and standing before Derek could stop him. “Look!” he teased. “I did it all by myself!”

“Such a brat,” Derek mumbled, but he was smiling.

***

The front door of Stiles’ old house had been fixed from where Ramona had broken the glass to gain entry. The new door was solid, no glass, and Stiles was a bit sad to see it, knowing another piece of his dad’s sense of security had been taken. That there had been any left to take was a miracle and Stiles wished he could make sure what remained never came under threat again.

“Dad, where are you?” he called as he walked inside.

“He’s out the back!” Cue yelled from the kitchen. “Get in here and help!”

Stiles and Derek shared a look before going through the living room into the kitchen. 

“What’s up?” Stiles started to say, then saw the problem, grabbing the saucepan off the stove as it boiled over.

Derek took an egg carton from Cue before he dropped it, allowing him to shut the fridge door with his foot as his arms were filled with meat packages.

“Thanks,” Cue huffed out, dropping the sausages and steak onto the kitchen table. “Your dad’s setting up the picnic table out the back, Lydia’s helping him.”

“Poor man,” Derek stated and left the kitchen. 

Stiles heard the back door open and through the kitchen window watched Derek take over the manual labor as Lydia arranged the seating. There was a big box of what Stiles knew were fairy lights at the bottom of the sycamore tree and he guessed what his job would be as soon as he went outside.

Delaying the inevitable, he eyed the mess in the kitchen. “What were you trying to do?”

Cue leaned back against the bench. “Everything. I was told to boil eggs for some reason, so I tried that.” He pulled a face. “And I was told to get out the meat for the barbecue.”

Stiles knew they didn’t have one of those, as his dad was more of a fast-food kind of guy and the oven had been his weapon of choice when pressed into cooking, so he took a moment to consider things. “Lydia,” he guessed aloud.

“Lydia,” Cue confirmed. Darting a look outside and seeing her talking to Derek, Cue leant towards Stiles, lowering his voice. “Dude, she’s scarily all-together, you know?”

Stiles chuckled. “I know.” Deciding to share a little, he added, “I was going to marry her.”

Cue choked on air. “You what?!”

Stiles’ dad chose that moment to escape inside, coming into the kitchen and giving Stiles a hug upon seeing him. “What are you talking about?” he asked while grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap.

“Stiles said he was going to marry Lydia!” Cue exclaimed as if the very idea was ludicrous. 

“Oh, yeah, he was,” Stiles’ dad confirmed. “But then he met Derek and even though he still believed it, the whole thing was a sham until my boy finally worked out how things really stood.” He rubbed a hand across Stiles’ head fondly.

Stiles gave him a dry look.

Cue turned to Stiles, “Does he mean until you figured out you liked di … Derek? That you liked Derek?” He shot Stiles’ dad a quick look.

Stiles smirked. “If I’d been smarter, I’d have figured it out sooner. But Lydia took it well. Considering she’s omnipotent, it wasn’t a surprise for her.”

“She knows everything??” Cue’s eyes widened and another look out the window had his cheeks turning red. “You’re joking, right?”

Stiles merely shrugged, enjoying Cue’s discomfort. 

His dad shook his head at him before saying to Cue, “She’s the smartest woman you’ll ever meet, but as far as I know, Stiles is just saying that.”

Cue shot an accusatory look at Stiles.

“She really is that smart,” Stiles warned. “Take my word for it. Don’t underestimate her.”

“Who are we talking about?” Lydia asked, entering the kitchen as quietly as Derek who came behind her.

“You, oh, wily Goddess of mine,” Stiles replied. 

Lydia smiled and leant in, giving Stiles a kiss on the cheek. 

Cue’s face turned even redder and he left the room, skirting around Lydia without making eye contact.

Stiles started chuckling. “You have an admirer.”

Lydia gave an indulgent look. “I know. He’ll grow out of it.”

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Stiles asked, giving her a hug.

“Not lately,” Lydia said, hugging him back. “Have I told you?”

“Not lately,” Stiles repeated. “But I wasn’t really listening all that well. I may have missed it.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Stiles kissed the top of her head, giving Derek a smile over the top of her strawberry blond curls. 

“Okay, who wants steak?” Stiles’ dad asked, clapping his hands together. “Derek, do you know how to use a barbecue?”

Derek blinked wide. “Uh …”

Lydia pulled out of Stiles’ embrace, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank God,” Stiles’ dad muttered, then said louder, “If you insist.”

Lydia grabbed the tongs which were on the table and the oil that was next to it. “Derek, tray these up for me?” She indicated to the meat packages, then swept out of the room.

“You’ve been told,” Stiles joked. “Better hop to it.”

“Stiles!” Lydia called. “Get out here and use your climbing powers to put up the lights! I want this celebration to be beautiful, not just nice!”

“On it, boss!” Stiles called back.

***

The celebration diner really was beautiful, Stiles had to admit. 

The fairy lights hung from the sycamore in tendrils, casting their glow over the table set up underneath. It was a sit-down affair, chairs arranged around the table with placemats and wide mugs of cocoa. Stiles would have guessed the weather would have been way too cold, but with the portable heaters Lydia had hired and the blankets artfully arranged over each chair for people’s comfort, the night was warm enough. Lydia’s ability to achieve the impossible even in Winter had Stiles smiling. She hadn’t even asked him to melt the snow, which he could have done, but the ground around the table had been relatively snow-free when he’d gone out to put up the lights, something which was apparently curtesy of Cue, a snow shovel and a few hours of complaining.

Everyone arrived as the evening settled, Malia grabbing Stiles as soon as she saw him, hugging him as tight as she could and then saying softly, “I have something I want to tell you.”

But a few hours later Stiles still didn’t know what it was. Malia was yet to get him alone for long enough to impart her secret and Stiles hadn’t been able to get up from the table to find out what it was. Derek had him sitting and staying. Stiles would have made a dog joke but Derek looked so happy and his eyes were so bright, that Stiles bit his lip, reigning the sarcasm back.

The plate in front of him was piled high with steak and sausages, more than one person extolling him to eat and gain strength. Malia went a step further and told him he needed to put on weight and to, “Eat the meat.” When she’d put it that way, Cue had spit his drink out into his glass and fixed Stiles with an evil grin over the table. Stiles had kicked him swiftly, causing Cue to curse loudly and inventively, only to have Stiles’ dad tell him off while Stiles sat back and smirked at him. 

“Having a good time?” Derek asked, leaning in close enough that his breath whispered across Stiles’ cheek. “I haven’t seen you so relaxed in ages.”

“Same could be said about you,” Stiles replied, going in for a kiss while Cue made gagging noises. 

Stiles kicked him again.

***

After dinner, while almost everyone was talking and relaxing in the living room, Stiles sought out Liam. The kid had been relatively quiet all night, sticking to Mason’s side and barely making eye contact with anyone. Stiles found him in his bedroom of all places, looking at the blank spaces on his bookshelves. 

Stiles took a moment and looked around, noting how bare and un-lived in his room was. It struck him again that he’d managed to get supernaturally married and had moved out without talking about any of it with his dad.

“You know,” Liam said, not looking at Stiles, “I was so angry at you.”

“I deserved it,” Stiles stated, sitting down on the bed. He ran a hand across the sheets, noting they were not his but new cheep ones his dad must have bought. For what reason, he couldn’t guess.

“Well, maybe you did,” Liam allowed. He sighed and turned around. “Maybe you didn’t. Or at least, not as much as I thought you did.”

“If you think you did anything wrong, Liam, you’re an idiot.”

Liam stared at Stiles, mouth open until he shut it with a click. “What?”

Stiles scratched at one eyebrow. “Truth is, you were right; I was a dick. The things I said and did were all me, no matter that I was under the influence of the fae. You saw that when no one else wanted to. You were right to want to protect the pack. You did good. You make a good second for Scott.”

“I’m not his second. You are,” Liam disagreed.

Stiles shook his head. “Nah, buddy, that’s all you.”

“But you’re back to being you now, so …” Liam trailed off.

“So nothing,” Stiles told him. “You’re his second. You’ve earned it. You’re loyal, you’re brave, you listen to him and he listens to you. He respects you, Liam.”

Liam looked pleased by what he was hearing but shrugged it away. “Maybe.”

“No maybes. You had his back while I was trying to put a knife in it. Figuratively speaking.”

“You didn’t try very hard,” Liam said. “You were cruel, but you could have done so much more damage to us than you did. Mason explained it to me.”

“Mason did?” Stiles guessed he shouldn’t be surprised.

Liam gave a twisted sort of smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. “You could have killed him. You were angry enough to do it.”

“I broke his arm in three places.”

“But you never really tried kill us, not even with the lightning that hit the ground near Scott.”

Stiles winced and looked away.

“Yeah, see, that right there. You totally freaked out when it happened,” Liam said. “But why, if you were trying to kill him? Mason figured it out, I probably wouldn’t have, ever. You were fighting against yourself the entire time.” 

Stiles pursed his lips. “I’ve heard that said a few times,” he admitted. “Don’t know how true it is.” It never felt like he was fighting anything within himself, only everyone else.

Liam walked towards the bedroom door, stopping and looking back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry for giving Argent the bow and arrows. I really did think you killed the guy who owned them.”

Stiles waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, you did what you thought was right. No hard feelings.”

“Really? We’re good?”

“I should be the one asking that.”

Liam looked down and after a moment nodded to himself. “We’re good.”

Stiles stayed in his room after Liam left, the relief washing through him tempered by shame.

***

With the pack settling down to watch a movie, Stiles found Derek talking to his dad in the kitchen. “I know those expressions. What’s up?”

His dad paused before admitting, “I’m trying to work out how to tell you something.”

“Rip the bandaid off,” Stiles offered. “Just go for it.”

“Alright.” His dad got an encouraging nod from Derek and breathed in before saying, “I’m thinking of asking Cue if he’d like to explore long-term fostering options with me.”

The idea wasn’t as off-putting to Stiles as his dad and Derek were obviously expecting. “That’s a big step.”

“Yeah,” his dad agreed. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Are you okay with it?”

Stiles thought about it. “Cue’s annoying, but then, so am I and you did okay with me.” He smiled at his dad. “Sure, I’m fine with it. Just let him know that you trim your toe nails in the bathroom, okay? Don’t go springing that one on him by having him spike himself in the foot with a wayward nail clipping. It hurts more than you think.”

His dad gave him a slightly exasperated but fond look. “I can do that.”

“Really, Dad, this is a good idea. For both of you.” Stiles walked over to him and gave him a hug. “Cue’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

Stiles pulled back. “Well, you were cool with me moving out and not talking to you about it, so I’m thinking you can deal with whatever crap he tries to pull.”

His dad chuckled. “Derek told me you worked it out. Finally.”

“People need to point things out to me more often,” Stiles complained. “Especially when it’s about me.”

“Because that’s always gone down so well in the past,” his dad said good-naturedly. 

“I think you’ll find I’m a changed person these days,” Stiles quipped. “I’m all about being open to things.”

“Really?” A glint entered his dad’s eyes. “So you’d be okay if I told you Melissa and I were thinking of dating?”

“La, lalalala la!” Stiles chanted, putting his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you!”

His dad started laughing, pulling his hands down. “Kidding, son. I’m kidding. But that’s for the time you joked you were marrying Derek.”

Stiles’ smile froze on his face. He’d forgotten about that. He traded wide-eyed looks with Derek, but his dad didn’t notice, still chuckling as he walked into the living room.

“We need to tell him,” Derek finally said, as quietly as possible, very aware of the finely-tuned ears of the shifters in the next room.

“Now?” Stiles squeaked. 

Derek shrugged slightly, looking just as freaked as Stiles felt. “It’s as good a time as any?”

“Not really,” Stiles hissed. “There’s not three states between us and a phone call. That’s how this should go down!”

“That wasn’t really how you were planning on it, were you?”

“No. Four states would be better.”

Derek chuckled low, giving Stiles a kiss on his forehead. “Will you settle for all of our friends being here instead?”

“Yeah. We can use them as a physical barricade for when he looses his shit.”

Derek stiffened. “He won’t will he?”

“I honestly don’t know. He let me move out without me actually asking him, so there is that.”

“I asked him.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Yep. Couldn’t take you away without permission.”

Stiles leant in, dropping his voice even further. “You fucked me without his permission.”

Derek closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice a deep whisper. “I did that.”

“Want to do it again?”

“What, now??”

Stiles grinned mischievously. “Come out back. Everyone’s watching the movie. We’ll be quick, up in the sycamore like we did that night, remember?”

“That wasn’t at all quick, Stiles. It lasted all night.”

“I don’t mind if does again.”

Derek took a step back. “Nice try. But I do think we need to tell everyone.”

“I’m surprised Scott hasn’t,” Stiles admitted.

“I asked him not to.”

Stiles still wanted to stop the inevitable apocalypse, but couldn’t think of anything else to stall with. “Okay, let’s go do this.”

“It’s not a bad thing, you know.” Derek could have taken Stiles’ reluctance badly, but there was humor lingering in his expression. “He’ll be happy for us.”

“Sure, in ten, twenty years time.”

Derek pulled Stiles by the hand, getting him to move reluctantly towards the living room. They walked in, the shifters in the room twisting their heads to stare with differing looks of surprise and knowing.

“Heard all that, didn’t you.” Stiles sighed as Liam, Malia and Scott all nodded. “Stupid super-ears,” he muttered to himself. “So, um, everyone, dad,” he started, then stopped, having to swallow and try again. “Derek and I have something to say.”

When Stiles couldn’t go on, Mason crowed, slapping at Liam’s arm. “Pay up! Told you he’d eventually tell us.”

“You know?” Derek asked.

“Of course we know, Derek. You know we do,” Lydia said. “Everyone but Stiles knew you were living together, it was just the matter of when Stiles worked it out.” She shook her head at Mason and Liam. “Some of us will bet on anything, it seems.”

“It was just such good odds,” Mason said, still chortling.

“That’s not what this is about,” Derek said.

“Ha!” Liam cried, pushing Mason’s hand away. 

“But I do know,” Stiles added, hating that he’d been so blind.

Mason wiggled his fingers in Liam’s face. “Show me the money!”

“Wait, are they saying you didn’t know where you lived?” Cue gave Stiles an unbelieving look. “This is just a joke, right?”

Stiles put a hand over his eyes. “As I was saying —” he started, hoping everyone would drop the subject of him being an idiot.

A polite knocking on the front door had everyone going quiet and on alert. 

“We expecting anyone?” Stiles’ dad asked, walking over quietly to the front door and pulling his gun from its holster where it hung on the hook.

There were head shakes all round.

“Who is it?” Stiles’ dad called out.

“It’s Araya Calavera, Sheriff,” came an authoritative female voice from the other side of the door. “I’d like it if your son, Stiles, would come outside, please.”

***


	22. The Calaveras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circle complete keeps spinning.

“You’re not going out there,” Stiles’ dad told him, eyeing the front door to his house as if the people on the other side would break it down. Considering their history with home invasion, it was a distinct possibility.

“Stiles,” called Araya Calavera, “I know you’re in there. Come out before we have to come in and get you.”

Scott and the other members of the pack looked to Stiles. He wondered why they were waiting for him to decide what to do. Events had shown he didn’t have a good track record lately in decision making. 

“I’m going to ask you to leave,” his dad called back. “There’s nothing to be gained by this.”

“Oh, I do believe that’s where you’re wrong, Sheriff,” Araya replied. “I would prefer to do this without force, but Scott McCall knows I’m not adverse to it.”

Scott grimaced. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Sheriff, I have my people out here. We’ve surrounded your home and will use deadly force if you make us. You have only minutes to comply and I advise against trying to call for backup. You’ll find all outgoing calls have been disabled.”

Mason held up his phone. “She’s right. No bars.” 

Checking his police radio, Stiles’ dad muttered something and shook his head. He shot Cue a troubled look and then locked eyes with Stiles.

The shifters in the pack were standing by then, facing different ways and straining to hear anything.

“I can’t hear anyone outside,” Liam said, looking worried.

“Me either,” Scott agreed.

Stiles looked to Malia who was peeking through the curtains. “There’s a group of about ten outside, with three cars in the driveway. They have guns.”

“I can’t sense them at all. Not even Araya,” Derek noted.

Everyone shared worried glances, the idea someone could sneak up on them unsettling them all. Stiles was at risk of having some serious flashbacks. Taking a deep breath, he forced everything but the here and now out of his thinking, using Derek’s presence by his side to help anchor reality.

“You will have figured out we can hide from you, Scott,” Araya announced through the door. “We have a lot of surprises for you and your pack unless you do as I say. Send Stiles out to us. Your time to decide is running out.”

“Can you teleport us away from here?” Cue asked Stiles quietly. 

Stiles bit his top lip. “Good plan, but my magic isn’t strong enough yet. I could do myself, maybe, but that’s it.”

“Then that’s what you do,” his dad said, coming to stand near him. “You leave. If you’re not here, those people outside will give up.”

“Who says?” Stiles disagreed. “They could break in here and kill you all! I’m not going!”

“There’s only two options then,” Mason announced. “We wait and then fight. Or we go out and see what they want with Stiles.”

“You’re not going out there!” Stiles exclaimed. “You’re already injured! What are you planning on doing, waving your cast at them?”

Mason put his good hand over the cast and sling on his other arm. “I’m doing whatever the pack decides as a group. Which is what we do every time somebody rocks up wanting to start something.”

“So what do we decide?” Scott asked the room. “Stay and fight, or talk to them? I say we talk.”

Stiles nodded, no way did he want anyone dying for him, though he would prefer everyone stayed inside while he went out alone.

The others all made noises of agreement, Stiles’ dad being the last. Pointing at Cue he said, “You’re staying here. No arguments about it!”

Cue shut his mouth and glowered. 

“You too, Mason,” Scott decided. “Look after Cue.”

Mason was at least as unimpressed as Cue, but he also said nothing, going to stand by Cue’s side.

“In the study with you both, now,” Stiles’ dad commanded. “Mason, take the radio and keep trying to get through to the station.”

Mason and Cue quietly did as they were told, Cue giving Stiles one last wide-eyed look as he left the room.

Stiles’ dad put his hand on the front doorknob. “We’re coming out,” he announced loudly. 

“Good choice, Sheriff,” Araya replied. “I will have my people stand down.”

“She’s lying,” Derek said as they congregated in the front hallway.

“I did catch that, thanks,” Stiles’ dad replied. “I’m going out first.”

Stiles made a noise of protest.

“This is what I do,” his dad said, effectively stopping any argument Stiles could have come up with. “You got my back?” he asked Derek and Scott, who both nodded. “All right then.” He opened the door and stepped outside.

The pack followed him down the front steps onto the lawn, Stiles somehow ending up in the middle of them. 

Araya Calavera’s team, the ones who were visible at least, had their guns lowered. Araya herself stood somewhat separate from them, seemingly unarmed. She looked exactly the same as Stiles remembered. Compact, certain and in control.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” she began, “thank you for making the right choice.”

“I haven’t made any choice,” Stiles’ dad said, “except to find out why you want my son.”

“Fair enough, explanations should be given. You should know we have been entertaining Chris Argent for the past two weeks.”

“What have you done with him?” Scott asked, immediately concerned.

Araya affected a surprised expression. “He came to us on his own, Scott McCall, with a story about why the people I sent to him have gone missing. A story I frankly did not believe, given that we’ve been watching this town and your pack for some time.”

“What did he tell you?” 

“Apparently a rogue werewolf killed my people, a rogue you and yours effectively put down.” Araya’s gaze roved over the group, settling on Stiles for a second longer than the others before coming back to Scott. “Can you see why I would have trouble with this story?”

“Are you saying Chris lied to you?” Scott asked instead of answering. Stiles was impressed with his dissembling.

“At first, yes. But then, with a little time and persuasion, he told a vastly different story. This one I am more inclined to believe. It is easier to believe, because we sent our people with the express purpose of keeping an eye on the monstruo within your pack.”

“There’s no monster here,” Scott replied firmly. 

With a grim scowl, Araya shook her head slightly. “We both know that’s not true.” Her gaze locked on Stiles once more. “Void Stiles, we are here to avenge our fallen. Come with us and we shall leave the McCall pack alive and unharmed.”

Stiles and the pack, including his dad, gave each other confused looks, Stiles more for show than anything else. Derek just continued to glower at Araya and the hunters standing with her.

“You’re mistaken,” Stiles’ dad said. “Stiles isn’t void.”

“Do not test my patience in this,” Araya warned. “Carlos Flores was tasked, if necessary, with the killing of Void. We know it killed him instead and the two others with him.” Araya gave Stiles a disgusted and angry sneer. “One of those people was a man called Guy Stevens. He was family to me. Through marriage, but family non-the-less. Do you remember him?”

Stiles finally had the name of the first hunter the fae had him kill. Stevens. The man they played ‘catch the will-o-wisp’ with. The one Stiles had pushed into the stump and delighted in his death as it helped in healing the Tree.

“I see that you do,” Araya commented. “Enough talking!” she barked suddenly. “Take him.” 

The hunters lifted their guns.

“Wait!” Scott called out, hands raised. “You’re wrong, Stiles didn’t kill them. He isn’t void!”

“So you say, but can you give me proof of that?”

Scott looked to Stiles, then shook his head helplessly. “You have my word.”

“Your word has merit,” Araya allowed. “But not enough. The Void is a trickster. He has confused all of you with his lies and manipulations. We will end him and set you free.”

Stiles’ dad had raised his gun when the hunters had aimed theirs. He had it pointed right at Araya. “You won’t touch him.”

“Sheriff,” Araya said cooly, “take a moment to consider I do not act lightly. I am well aware of the death of Stefanie Meahn and your participation in the cover up of who her murderer is.”

That caused a couple of winces from Lydia and Scott, and Stiles wished they had better poker faces. 

Faces like his dad’s, who never wavered. “There was no cover up. Now lower your weapons and leave before I arrest all of you.”

A short bark of laughter escaped Araya’s throat, one that was as harsh as her glare. “I do not like the idea of ruining a man’s reputation when it is not warranted, but you have done it to yourself. If Stiles does not come with us, we will inform the proper authorities as to your actions. Both you and your son will be tried and convicted. You will spend your days in jail while your son will end up with us regardless.”

Stiles had been quiet up until then, but he couldn’t stand back and let this woman destroy his dad. “I’ll go with you.” There were exclamations of shock and refusal from all around him. “Leave everyone alone, including my dad, and I’ll go.”

“You will not!” Derek growled through his fangs. “I will kill you if you touch him,” he threatened Araya.

“The Void has done its work well, I see,” Araya noted, “to have a pack, including Derek Hale, protecting it.” She appraised Stiles with a look that traveled from his face to his feet and back again. “We agree to your terms. Come now and no one gets hurt.”

“Stiles, no!” His dad moved, blocking Stiles, and the pack tightened their ranks around him. “It’s not happening.”

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s shoulder, getting Derek to look at him. He’d been keeping his fox ability clamped down tight but he didn’t need it to feel Derek’s terror at the thought of Stiles being taken again. It came through loud and clear, the claim a mess of raw feelings.

“This is taking too long,” Araya said, before Stiles could say anything. “Shoot them.”

Shots rang out, a multitude of noise, and before the pack could retaliate, everyone was dropping around Stiles. He cried out and turned in a circle, expecting to see them all dead but was quick to notice the darts sticking out of them, numerous ones in arms, necks and chests.

“Derek, Dad!” Stiles went to bend down to check on them, stopping halfway when the hunters aimed their guns on him.

“They're fine and will wake soon enough. Come now, or we'll do the same to you.” Araya turned and walked over to the black van that stood in the driveway. She opened the door and got in, waiting for him.

The hunters slowly closed in on Stiles, more coming out of the bushes and tree line and from behind the house, encircling him in a ring of firepower. Stiles held up his hands slowly and with a regretful heart, stepped over his dad, walking with the hunters towards the van and two other cars. With one last look at his pack and family lying on the lawn of his dad’s house, Stiles climbed in after Araya.

When the door shut, the interior light stayed on and the van took off, backing down the driveway as Stiles and Araya stared at each other across the small space. The seats were fitted with one facing front, the other facing backwards, and it was on this backwards seat that Araya was settled, completely secure in the knowledge the two hunters, one sitting by her side, the other near Stiles, could take him out before he could try anything. 

Perhaps Stiles could have done something normally, but not with his magic still so weak. He recalled Deaton’s warning of just such a thing happening; someone attacking while he could do nothing about it. But even if he had his magic, Araya would destroy his dad if he tried anything, tying Stiles’ hands more tightly than any actual binding ever could.

“What now?” Stiles asked.

Araya was still studying him. “I thought we’d have to resort to violence,” she admitted. “I anticipated you using the McCall pack as a diversion for your escape. It was the threat to your father that gained your compliance, wasn’t it?”

“He’s a good man, he doesn’t deserve to go to jail,” Stiles retorted. “Leave him alone.”

“I will. I have you now so there is no need to go any further with him. He is a victim here as much as anyone else, after all. Victim to your manipulations.” Araya sat forward, making the hunters tense as she got closer to Stiles. She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. “I did not think you capable of caring for someone.”

“I care! I care a whole damn lot!”

Araya sat back. “Good. It will keep you compliant.” She opened the little window separating the driving cabin from the back. “Go faster. I want a lot of space between Beacon Hills and our destination before the McCall pack wake up.” She shut the window, smiling at Stiles. “I do expect them to search for you, but you will be dead before they find you. If they ever do.” 

She nodded to the hunter sitting next to Stiles, who raised a hand and flicked off the interior light, turning the small space into a mass of shadow.

Stiles stared out the window, the night making everything darker as they drove along.

***

They’d driven for long enough in silence that even though he fought it, Stiles succumbed and drifted into a weird dozing state, not entirely asleep but not quite awake either. His body rocked with the motion of the van and he slid into the hunter sitting next to him. She pushed him roughly with her elbow, forcing him into the side of the van and waking him up. Feeling rather stupid for not keeping his wits about him, Stiles looked outside, trying to figure out where they were.

Daylight was still a way off so Stiles was sure they must be in Beacon Hills county at least, if not the town. It made him feel slightly better about his circumstances, though it didn’t actually help him at all. The idea that he was going to be killed hadn’t fully hit him, most of his thinking being taken up with Derek and his dad. He hated to think of their reactions when they woken and found him gone. The claim didn’t help; all Stiles could feel was Derek’s presence sitting in the back of his mind. There were no emotions coming through and he didn’t know if it was because of distance or if his weak magical state was stuffing things up.

The van stopped and Araya got out first, Stiles being pushed after her by the impatient female hunter.

Flanked by hunters, Stiles walked behind Araya into a building he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. He didn’t dare use his fae sight to see better as they hadn’t mentioned him being fae and it was something he wanted to keep secret if they didn’t already know of it. 

They walked through a few small, dark and echoey rooms, which made Stiles believe they were empty of furniture, though he couldn’t tell for sure. His feet were scuffing through dirt and dust and he nearly tripped down a flight of stairs, being stopped bodily by the man in front of him. He was pulled back by the one behind him gripping the back of his shirt and steered downwards one step at a time. Either the hunters had memorised this place or they had way better eyesight than he did right then. 

When they arrived at the bottom of the staircase, a light was turned on, making him squint as it swayed on its cord. Why they hadn’t turned a light on upstairs was only one of a thousand questions running through Stiles’ brain. Shadows danced around the room as he was led over to a far wall. Cinder bricks on all sides, rough concrete flooring and the smell of dirt all but confirmed he was in some kind of basement.

Chains attached to the wall at head hight ended in cuffs and he was unceremoniously shackled to them, bringing back painful memories of Brine as the iron within them was immediately apparent. Hiding his wince, he looked at Araya who was watching him like a hawk. When she was sure he was going nowhere, she motioned her hunters back up the stairs.

“Get comfortable if you wish, though it won’t matter if you don’t,” she told Stiles. “You won’t be here long.” 

She turned and walked over to a corner Stiles hadn’t paid attention to, squatting down and putting her hand on a blanket that covered something underneath. “Christoph,” she said, startling Stiles with the relative gentleness she used. “How are you?”

The figure under the blanket moved and the dirty face of Argent came into view, one eye forced shut with a painful looking swelling. “Why ask, when we both know you don’t care?” 

Argent’s voice was dry and as he moved, the blanket shifted, revealing his own set of handcuffs chained to the floor. He was also sitting on a small mattress, a comfort not afforded to Stiles who stared, unable to comprehend such circumstances because as far as he knew, the Argents and Calaveras were pals.

“You know why,” Araya said, her hand still on Argent’s shoulder. She looked down to where a bowl of food was resting on the floor. “You haven’t eaten.”

Argent stared at her with his one good eye, saying nothing.

Sighing, Araya stood up. “We have time. We’ll fix you yet.”

Argent’s eye narrowed as Araya crossed the room and walked up the stairs. There was the sound of a heavy door being closed and locked. Looking across at Stiles, Argent grunted and sat up straighter. “So, they got you.”

Stiles didn’t know what to do first; try to break the cuffs so he could lunge at Argent and choke him, or laugh. He did a bit of both, checking the strength of the cuffs as he huffed, “No thanks to you.”

“I tried to keep you out of this!” Argent exclaimed, holding his hands up to show off his chains.

“Why are you down here and not up there with your buddies?” Stiles asked, not believing him for a second. “Why weren’t you part of my kidnapping troupe? I would have thought you’d love to have been in on that.”

There was no reply from Argent. He merely closed his eye and tipped his head back against the wall.

Stiles sneered at him, then looked around. The basement was empty of anything that may have been even slightly helpful for any kind of escape, not that he knew what he’d do if he managed to get out. 

Sitting down, Stiles’ arms ended up above his head as the chains were too short to allow him any slack. He stared up at them, noting how the iron was burning his skin a little. Without any sunlight coming into the windowless room and with his current state of wellbeing, he’d be feeling the iron’s full effects in a day or two. That was, if Araya Calavera had any plans on letting him live that long.

***

It had become clear to Stiles, through the quiet witnessing of Araya’s and Argent’s frequent conversations why Argent was being held down there with him.

“Why don’t you just take her up on her offer?” he asked, unable to tell if it was day or night or how long he’d been down there. Going by the way the cuffs were making his skin welt, it had been at least two days. 

No one had checked on him in that time, seemingly content to let him starve, so no one had noticed how the iron was affecting him when they came down to check on Argent, take him to the bathroom, and give him the food Stiles wished he was getting. It was ironic; now he couldn’t have it, he wanted it.

“I’m not a murderer,” Argent replied quietly. He hadn’t had much to say to Stiles, spending his time resting or sleeping; Stiles couldn’t tell the difference between them, just that he’d never seen the man so still or quiet for such long periods of time.

“It seems like a pretty good offer,” Stiles pushed. “It would have the bonus of getting you out of this hole. They’d let you go. So why don’t you do it?”

Argent opened both eyes, the swelling to his face having gone down considerably with the use of supplied ice packs. “Do you want to die so badly?”

“No,” Stiles replied. “I’m just trying to work out why you haven’t said yes. I’m bored and there’s nothing else to do.”

“Careful,” Argent warned with a wane smile. “I could agree just to shut you up.”

Stiles appreciated gallows humor, so his own smile was quick in appearing though it was just as strained as Argent’s. “Explain it to me then.”

Argent sighed as if this whole situation was tiring for him in a ‘just waiting for it to end’ kind of way. “I’m not doing it because I realized you’re not a monster.”

That shook Stiles up a bit. “What?”

“You’re not a monster,” Argent repeated. “At least, not under your own power, no matter what Araya believes.”

“What made you change your mind?” Stiles would have been more shocked, but he didn’t have the energy right then for overly long introspections.

“Araya.” Argent shifted against the wall where he sat, the rasping of his shirt against the cinder bricks like an annoying itch Stiles couldn’t scratch. “I was going to tell them everything down in Mexico when I first arrived, but they were in the middle of something I wish I’d stopped. It made me reevaluate things.”

Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know any more, such was the regret Argent was showing. As he’d gone quiet again, Stiles let the matter drop.

***

“Stiles.”

A voice made him open his eyes and lift his head from where it was hanging on his chest.

“Stiles!”

He turned to Argent, remembering where he was after a second of blankness. 

“Drink this!” Argent held up a bottle of water then dropped it by his shoe. He aimed and kicked it across the floor. 

Stiles watched it roll, the precious fluid swishing towards him. It didn’t make it all the way but was very close when it stopped. Slowly edging a foot towards it and hooking it by the neck with his toes, Stiles pulled in towards himself. 

The scrape of the bottle across the floor was excruciating; one wrong move could send the bottle out of his reach. It took long moments, Stiles panting heavily as he wrangled the bottle up into his lap and then pressed it against his chest with his knees. Who’d have thought being so flexible would come in handy for more than just sexipades with Derek? Stiles shied away from thinking about his wolf.

Instead, he bit the bottle top between his teeth and twisted his head, slowly repeating the movement until the lid came off the bottle. He spat it out, letting it fall where it would, breathing in the sweet scent of water as it rose up, hitting his nostrils. It took a bit more maneuvering to get the first drop of water on his tongue, his heart jackrabbiting all the while. The stakes were even higher than before. If he made a wrong move now it would be all the more disappointing because he was so close.

The water burst across his mouth, fresh and cold, making him gasp and want to chug the bottle too fast, but Stiles held himself back as he took sip after sip. He emptied all but the last dregs, unfortunately dropping the bottle before he was finished. It rolled away back towards Argent, who kicked it into a corner.

The water travelled through Stiles’ system, reviving him a little. But for what? A more prolonged dehydration, iron poisoning and eventual death at the hand of Araya? It seemed for all her threats of a quick end, she was content with the slow and painful until she got what she wanted from Argent. But he’d never do what she asked of him. He wouldn’t kill Stiles. Whatever he’d seen the Calavera woman do, it had soured their relations for good. She just hadn’t come to the same realization yet. Stiles briefly wondered what she’d do when she did.

***

When Stiles woke, he wasn’t sure what had caused it. He was so vastly tired, every part of him wanting to rest and ignore what was happening to it. Stiles knew this kind of tired. This was the particular kind that came with iron poisoning, and death if it persisted for too long.

“Argent?” he called out quietly, the light that was always on in the basement making him squint. “You awake?”

There was a grunt of a reply.

“I was thinking,” Stiles lied, going by instinct alone. “You should do it. You should kill me.”

That caused more of a stir from Argent. “Stiles, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re delirious. You’ve been talking to Derek in your sleep for hours.”

That wasn’t surprising. Stiles had been unable to think of anything else for what seemed the longest time.

“You’re not going to die here,” Argent told him. "I won't allow it."

“How are you going to stop it?” Stiles asked without energy. “At least if you agree, she’ll let you go.”

“I’m not killing you, Stiles.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, it wouldn’t really be murder. You were right about me.”

“How so?”

“I am a monster.” Stiles turned his head from the light, too dehydrated to shed the tears of guilt that were behind his eyes. “I have killed. The void inside me likes it. I like it.”

“Stop talking,” Argent hissed.

“Why? Because I’m telling you things you already know? It’s only the truth. I’ve killed before, I’ll kill again.” Stiles had no idea where he was getting the strength to talk for so long, only that he had to make Argent see he didn’t need to die down there with him.

“Stiles, the real monsters are the ones up there with the woman who ordered the murder of a child!” Argent’s voice broke. “She was a born werewolf who’d done nothing wrong, but she was the daughter of a werewolf who’d hurt a human. She was six years old, Stiles, six! I was supposed to help people like her, but instead I let her die so I could catch you! You’re not the monster, Stiles, I am.”

Stiles thought about that; the guilt that was Argent’s and the guilt that was his, and he chuckled without mirth. “Perhaps we’re both monsters. At least you save people.”

“You’ve saved people,” Argent argued. “You stopped the Summation, you saved Allan and the druids.”

“You saved them,” Stiles corrected him. “I was going to kill them.”

“Everyone would have died if you hadn’t stood up to the fae!” Argent moved, leaning forward and pulling against his chains like he wanted to get in Stiles' face. It was the most animated he'd been in a while. “I didn’t want to see what Scott had been telling me, what Derek and your dad tried to tell me, even Allan. They all saw it, Stiles. You’re capable of killing, sure, but not without someone pulling your strings. Left to yourself, you do nothing but put others’ safety before your own. Look at what you’re doing right now!”

Stiles sighed. He wasn’t getting through.

“I bet that’s the reason Araya caught you,” Argent continued, even thought Stiles was finished. “I bet she threatened everyone, Derek, your dad, and so you gave yourself up.”

Stiles twitched. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I won’t kill again if I’m dead,” Stiles pointed out rationally. “No one would be able to ‘pull my strings’. Everyone would be safe from me.”

“Don’t be so pathetic!” Argent spat, more lively than Stiles had seen him in all their time in captivity. “Don’t you give up, either! Your pack will find you, Scott will find you. Derek, Stiles … Derek will find you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave.”

“Why? What hold does she have on you? Stiles, work with me here, we’ll get out together and I’ll help you stop her.”

“I’m so tired,” Stiles said quietly, not wanting to think of having to stop yet another person from hurting those he loved.

***

“I’ll do it,” Argent said to Araya. Stiles lifted his head and peered blearily in their direction. “I’ll kill him.”

“Why do you want to now, after so long denying your heritage?” Araya asked of him.

“He told me to do it.”

Araya turned towards Stiles. “Did he now. And why would he do that?”

“Because he’s not who you think he is. He’s protecting those he loves.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Araya mused as she produced a key from her pocket and undid Argent’s cuffs. “Though his reason doesn’t interest me nearly as much as yours does. Christoph, you were a formidable hunter once, with our help, you will be again. This is the first step.”

Argent got to his feet and leaned against Araya who held him up. Suddenly, he pushed Araya back, the gun he’d taken from her side holster aimed at her. “Let him go,” he ordered, indicating towards Stiles. “He’s going to walk out of here without harm.”

“Of course,” Araya agreed, heading over towards Stiles and undoing his cuffs.

Stiles arms fell by his sides, the feeling in them one of pins and needles and fire. He didn’t recall Araya wearing a side arm any time before today and something about that screamed at him as she pulled him up. “Chris,” he got out, trying to put together why Araya seemed so very calm as her plans fell down around her. “She’s not afraid.”

Argent paused, taking a good look at Araya who smirked thinly at him. 

“He is bright, isn’t he?” she said. “I guess he’d have to be, in order to trick as many people as he has. He’s even managed to trick you in the short time you’ve been down here together.” 

Araya let Stiles go and he fell against the wall, sliding down it until he got his feet underneath himself. Stepping away from him, Araya was not at all concerned by the gun pointed at her. “If you're going to shoot me,” she told Argent, “I suggest you stop hesitating and just do it.”

Argent didn’t fire but he did take a closer look at the gun he held, scowling when he figured it out. “The firing pin’s been removed.” He threw the gun on the floor. “That’s why you let me take it from you.”

Araya nodded. “I needed to see just how far the Void’s influence had sunk into you. Now I know.”

“He’s not Void!” Argent cried angrily, looking worn down.

“Then what is he?”

From where he sagged against the wall, Stiles silently begged Argent not to tell her. 

Argent locked eyes with him, indecision written all over his face. Finally he dropped his head, saying nothing.

Araya looked grim as she pushed a signal button on the wall. The door above opened and several hunters trooped down the stairs. “Bring the Void up, but be careful. Don’t listen to his silver-tongued words.”

Stiles had no plan to talk to any of them, expending more than enough energy just staying on his feet. He was half carried, half dragged up the stairs, Araya coming behind Argent as she motioned him to ascend with them. 

Up in the building, there was light coming through one curtained window and Stiles was drawn to it, wanting to feel the light on his skin and in his bones. The curtain was only a pinned up piece of material, one of the few items in the room apart from a small table with a broken leg listing towards a bordered-up fireplace.

He was pushed down to his knees, swaying with fatigue as he was held there in the dust, two hunters holding him, one on each shoulder. Araya was handed a small pistol and came to stand behind him. Stiles realized, with a distant thought, he was about to be executed. Strange that they hadn’t just done it down in the basement. 

He heard the gun being cocked, just as one of the female hunters lifted a corner of the curtain hanging over the window and looked out. The sunlight came in through the gap to rest on Stiles’ thigh.

“Someone’s out there.”

Stiles concentrated on the light he could feel, smiling faintly as it warmed him the littlest bit. It was like a last hug goodbye.

Araya paused. “See who it is,” she ordered, and the woman nodded, dropping the curtain.

Stiles could have cried at the loss of the light, a small noise making its way past his lips as the two other hunters holding him departed the room with the woman, leaving him to hold himself up as best he could. He didn’t want to die face down in the dirt.

“I didn’t think your pack would find us so soon,” Araya said to him.

The gun was put to the back of his head.

Stiles didn’t think the pack had found him, the claim hadn’t woken as it usually did when Derek was close. It was still quiet within him, nothing coming through.

“No!” Argent yelled, just as Stiles closed his eyes.

There was a scuffling and thumping from behind him, Araya moving away, and there was yelling and shots being fired outside. Then screaming. So much screaming, long and high and full of pain.

Stiles looked up at the window with no hope of seeing outside, the pain in the wind calling to him and making him want to drink it in.

Things grew quiet and then Argent was by his side, scaring Stiles with how close he suddenly was. “Stiles, we need to go!” 

He pulled Stiles up and got him moving out the front door where they both stopped, blinded by the unfiltered sunlight. When he was able to see again, Stiles’ mouth dropped open and a surprised laugh was shocked out of him.

The Calavera hunters were no more. Strewn around the ground outside the building, they lay unmoving, some missing limbs, some burnt beyond recognition. And there stood the fae in the middle of it all, starkly clean while everything around it was covered in blood and ash, its skin the color of a new forest dappled with thirst-quenching shade. 

Argent stared at the fae than at Stiles, and Stiles was still laughing, bending over at the waist as his energy left him, Argent doing his best to keep him up. Sounding slightly freaked, Argent shook him and said, “Snap out of it!” 

“Dear heart, you are not well,” the fae said, and was by his side in an instant. 

Argent let go of him and backed away, hands held up. 

The fae spared him no mind, instead helping Stiles walk out from under the building’s awning into the direct sunlight. They were in the middle of nowhere so it seemed; a wide expanse of grassy fields stretching out in all directions, the building they’d been in the only structure to be seen apart from a falling-down barn a few hundred yards away. Stiles looked back and saw he’d been held in an abandoned farm, partially bordered up and with a bright condemned sign nailed to the front door.

Looking down at his feet, he found he was standing in something wet, or rather someone, and stumbled back quickly in the fae’s embrace, flicking the red off his toes and feeling decidedly queazy. A closer look, which he didn’t mean to do, showed the body belonged to Araya. She looked relatively unscathed at first glance, her gun still in her hand, lax fingers holding it above her head as she stared sightlessly up at him. With a second glance, Stiles saw the blood was coming from the back of her head, or what was left of it as she was rather depleted in that area. Looking away, Stiles fought down bile.

The fae was stroking his arm and cooing at him gently, sending sunlight to dance across Stiles’ skin in pulses of sparking energy. “Dear heart, we found you.”

“How did you?” Stiles asked, finding it hard to look anywhere and not see someone who’d died horrifically. No wonder there’d been so much pain floating around that he’d felt it inside the farmhouse. 

“Your little boy,” the fae answered. 

“Cue?” Stiles was aghast. “What did you do to him?”

“Us? We did nothing. We have given our word not to harm you or yours and we shall not. Besides, the boy is bold and we appreciate his concern for you. He called us to the grove, and we came for we were intrigued. He explained of your trouble and demanded we save you.”

Stiles tried to make sense of all that. “Cue … called you … and you came?”

“He used his connection to the Tree. We admit there was a lot said about things we did not pay attention to, but we listened when he mentioned you.” The fae looked at Stiles with something close to warmth in its eyes. “We tracked you, we came, and we eliminated those who posed a threat.”

“Yeah, you did,” Stiles agreed, possibly suffering from more than a little shock. “Uh, thank you.”

The fae smiled. “You are very welcome.” It looked him over carefully, frowning. “We will rid you of this iron if you will allow it.”

“Yes, please.”

The fae came close, pressing its forehead to Stiles’ and fixing him with an unblinking stare. It breathed out, its breath a clean breeze filled with sky. It flowed across Stiles’ face and down his neck. 

When the fae breathed in, Stiles cried out, tensing in its grasp as his body locked up, pain flowing through him, following the fae’s breath. It continued sucking and bit by bit, the iron poisoning forced its way out of Stiles' skin like sweat. A clear sticky substance coated him, turning into myriads of tiny bubbles that rolled down his body under his clothes, over his feet, into the ground.

With a flick of the fae’s hands down his arms, the bubbles finished their downward trail and the ache in Stiles’ bones and the cloudiness of his brain disappeared. He shook himself like a dog, tingling everywhere with his nerves lit up and highly attuned to the world around him.

The grassy fields were humming with life; insects and mice and all sorts of other creatures, every life pulsing with its own energy that Stiles could feel as if he held each one in his hand. The grasses themselves, each blade and stem, waved and moved to the unseen wishes of the wind, a dance of bending and dipping that was as rhythmic as it was mathematical.

“We shall take our leave now you are safe,” the fae decided, but turned to consider Argent who was standing in the shadows of the porch awning.

“Leave him be,” Stiles asked of it. “He was doing his best to save me.”

“It seems this human is very good at making you indebted to him.”

Stiles gave a small crooked smile, knowing just how strange it was for him to harbor anything other than hatred towards Argent. As he didn't feel like parsing out his emotions, he just went with his gut. “For all his faults, he’s a good man.”

The fae hummed a non-approving hum, but said nothing. With one last touch of its fingers to Stiles’ shoulder in farewell, it was gone.

Stiles carefully made his way over the yard, around the bodies and body pieces, almost throwing up a few times. The fae had not held back at all. The carnage made it all the more apparent how it had been playing when dealing with Stiles’ pack and family. It could have killed them numerous times without even trying, but hadn’t.

Walking into the shade of the porch, Stiles stopped before he got too close to Argent. “Thank you, Chris.”

“What for?”

“You saved me.”

“Pretty sure your fae did that.” Argent eyed the farmyard with obvious disgust.

Stiles shook his head. “I would have been dead way before it got here if you’d agreed to do as Araya asked.”

Argent’s jaw flexed as he considered that. “We need to clean this up.”

“Oh, God,” Stiles whined, feeling lightheaded at the prospect.

The look Argent gave Stiles was slightly humorous. “Not you, you clearly don’t have the stomach for it. I’ll call someone. But first.” He made his way back inside the farmhouse and after a few minutes returned with a long brown bag. Dropping it on the ground, he squatted and rummaged through it, finding a ziplock bag which held a USB card. “I think this might hold the evidence Araya used to make you compliant.”

“How did you …?” Stiles took the proffered baggie. 

“You were talking to your dad too, not just Derek.”

“When?”

“You were pretty out of it most of the time. Is that what iron poisoning does to you?”

“Pretty much,” Stiles hedged. “We good to go?”

“We’ll take one of their cars,” Argent decided, pulling a pistol from the bag, which he pocketed after checking it was loaded. “I’ll find the keys to something.”

“Or I can take you.”

Argent stopped his rifling in the bag. “Take me. As in that transportation thing?”

Stiles nodded. “If you trust me enough. I won’t hurt you.”

Argent gave a dry laugh and stood up. “That I know.”

“Okay, then.” Stiles held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

***

“Dad, Derek?” Stiles called as he walked into the house from the backyard, Argent following.

“Stiles?!” Cue came running from the kitchen, barreling into Stiles and hugging his waist with a grip that left Stiles wincing.

“Easy there, buddy, I’m back, we’re okay.” Stiles looked up from Cue to see his dad standing in the back hallway, eyes full of tears. 

“Dad,” Stiles began, only for his dad to walk forward and wrap him in the most relieved hug Stiles had received in a while.

“Jesus, Stiles,” his dad choked out, gripping the back of Stiles’ neck. “Don’t you EVER do that again.”

“I’m always going to put you first, old man,” Stiles said. “You know that.”

“Sometimes, I wish I didn’t,” his dad replied, a tear running down his cheek.

“I’m okay, really,” Stiles said softly. “Chris saved me.”

“Chris?” His dad gave Stiles a long look, then turned to the ex-hunter who was standing near the back door. “Seems I owe you. Thank you for saving him.”

Argent shook his head. “You owe me nothing. The fae saved both of us. Speaking of which … do you have a phone I can use to make a call?”

Stiles’ dad frowned but tipped his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Landline’s near the fridge on the wall.” 

Argent nodded his thanks and walked into the kitchen. 

Stiles’ dad hadn’t let go of Stiles yet, holding onto his arms as he asked, “What happened?”

Stiles lowered his eyes. “The fae decimated the Calaveras. It’s how we escaped. Chris is going to get some people to help with what was left.”

“What was left??”

“Wow, so it totally came through!” Cue exclaimed.

“Yeah, and you and I need to have a talk about that,” Stiles told him sternly.

Cue’s enthusiasm deflated. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Did the fae ask anything of you, get you to promise anything?”

“What did you do?” Stiles’ dad asked, putting a hand on Cue’s shoulder and looking worried. “Tell me you didn’t?”

“He did.”

Cue was wilting under the gazes of both Stiles and his dad. “I won’t say sorry.”

Stiles snorted. “Of course not, but answer me anyway.”

“No!” Cue’s head shot up. “I told it what had happened and it said it would get you back, that’s it, I swear!”

Something wasn’t right with that, something in the way Cue looked so desperate for Stiles to believe him. “What else did you say to it? Cue, what else did you say?”

“Nothing!” Cue pulled away from Stiles’ grasp on his arm. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” He took off down the hallway and into Stiles’ bedroom, shutting the door with a loud bang.

Stiles looked after him, then at his dad. 

“I’ll talk to him,” his dad said. “You need to let Derek know you’re okay. He’s not taking your disappearance well.”

Stiles gave his dad one last hug, worrying about Derek. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For being my dad.”

Stiles’ dad patted him on the back. “Wouldn’t want to be anything else.”

They shared a loaded look, then Stiles said, “Bye, Dad, see you later,” and sunlight-leaped to the cabin.

“Derek!” he called, opening the cabin door, sensing his wolf was inside. “Derek?”

Derek appeared from the hallway and they came together in a tangle of limbs, mouths finding each other with a desperation spurned on by the claim which opened up into a mess of pain and forced separation anxiety.

Words were not spoken as they bumped into walls and furniture, up the hallway and into their bedroom. They tumbled down onto the bed and Derek was on Stiles, biting the claiming scar without finesse, making Stiles gasp before he was pulling at Derek’s shirt, moving it away from his neck and using fae teeth to bite just as hard on Derek’s scar.

He fell into the claim, feeling Derek do the same and they floated together, wrapped around each other, breathing evening out as the claim slowly calmed down. Stiles rubbed Derek’s back gently in a wide even sweep of hands, getting skin on skin contact under Derek’s shirt and murmuring gentle shushing noises past his teeth in Derek’s neck. Derek was keening quietly while scenting him, breathing in deeply and shuddering in Stiles’ arms. 

Stiles removed his teeth and licked a stripe along the abused scar tissue. “Shh,” he continued to murmur. “Shhh.”

After a long while, Derek removed his fangs. Linking the fingers of one hand with Stiles’, he pressed his lips against Stiles’ knuckles. They stared at one another, Stiles sending a gentle wave of love-love-love through the claim. Derek sighed deeply and tightened his grip.

“I love you,” Stiles whispered.

Derek’s answer was to send back so much love through the claim that Stiles responded by getting slightly hard. He paid it no mind, wanting only for Derek to be okay.

***

They moved slowly together, eyes locked, skin on skin sliding and squelching, lube adding a delicious wetness to proceedings. Stiles, legs wrapped around Derek, lifted his hips, rubbing his dick against Derek’s abs and getting a lovely shiver in return that had him doing it over and over, Derek’s dick and balls rubbing along his crack. Derek smiled down at him and they were rolling, Stiles ending up on top and grinding down faster, kissing Derek’s open mouth and sliding his tongue in.

Everything was wet, slick and hot and Stiles groaned, jerking as he came in Derek’s arms. Derek rolled them again and lifted Stiles’ legs. He nested himself back against Stiles’ ass and kept rubbing, balls rolling over Stiles’ hole. Stiles was still panting, tingles of want shimmering over him as he ran his hands along Derek’s arms and shoulders. Derek came with a grunt, slicking Stiles’ ass. 

After the shuddering came to a stop, Derek reached down between them, scooping up some of his come and massaging it around, sticking a finger into Stiles and making his dick twitch with renewed interest. Stiles lifted his ass for better access.

Derek smirked, but it was gentle and loving, the claim filled with nothing but orgasmic bliss. He kept his finger in Stiles, pushing in and out, using more come and stretching Stiles wider and wider. 

Stiles gripped Derek’s hips, urging him closer and they kept going, as they had been for what seemed like hours, coming together over and over again, with it never being enough.

***

The next meal the pack had together wasn’t so much a celebration, as a way of expressing their relief in all being together.

They’d waited until the weekend, a full week after Stiles had escaped the Calaveras, and instead of being at Stiles’ dad’s place, they were at the cabin, the first party to have been held there. Stiles hoped it was setting a precedence for future events.

Standing up from the new extendable table they’d bought and shoved into the living area, Stiles held up his glass of water and waited for everyone to be looking at him. He gave each person an individual smile.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for putting up with my crap; for putting up with me in general and never stopping believing in me.” He tipped his glass in the direction of Chris Argent, who Stiles had personally invited. “And for having my back, even when I didn’t deserve it because I was being a world class asshole.”

Stiles’ dad sighed but joined in with the clinking of glasses around the table. Chris gave Stiles a small smile, and raised a glass filled with wine in his direction.

Scott stood up and gave Stiles a one-armed hug. “I wanted to say thank you as well. Things have been really tough for us for a while but everyone still managed to keep it all together, supporting each other. I’m really proud of the people I call my pack and family.”

There was a round of cheers and everyone clinked glasses again as Scott sat down, patting Stiles on the back.

Melissa, who was sitting by Stiles’ dad nudged him and gave an encouraging smile. Stiles’ dad didn’t stand, but gained everyone’s attention by clearing his throat. “I wanted to thank Lydia first, for yet again putting on a memorable spread with Melissa and Malia’s help.”

There was laughter and a few jokes as everyone knew Malia had been roped into it and had been more hindrance than help.

“I helped too!” Cue spoke up. “Thank me!”

There was more laughter, but Stiles’ dad acknowledged Cue with a smile. “Cue as well. Mel said you showed skill with the cooking. You can use that in home economics when you start school in a few weeks.”

Cue groaned and Liam laughed, thumping him on the back. “We’ll take care of you.”

Mason nodded. “I’ll help you catch up.”

“Always a nerd,” Liam said.

“Yeah, I am, and proud of it,” Mason retorted.

“Go nerds!” Stiles exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air.

Chris gave Stiles a surprised look, his gaze on Stiles’ shoulder where his shirt had slipped. “You’re claimed?!” he exclaimed loudly.

Everyone went quiet and Stiles gave Derek a wide-eyed look, fixing the neck of his shirt but not before everyone’s eyes settled on the claiming scar.

“You’re what?” his dad asked.

“Claimed.” Chris looked between Derek and Stiles before noting the curious gazes of more than one person at the table. “They don’t know?”

Derek shook his head. “The timing was never right.”

“Stiles, Derek,” Stiles’ dad said slowly. “What does ‘claimed’ mean?”

“Uh …” Stiles swallowed, but he found he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he thought he’d be. He went to answer his dad but Chris got there first.

“Your son is essentially married.”

There were exclamations all round, Scott shaking his head at the pack to get them to quieten down.

Stiles ignored them, keeping his eyes on his dad. “Just remember, before you decide to go ape over this, I’m nearly nineteen and an adult and I love Derek more than anything in the world.”

His dad stared at him for a long minute. Then he rubbed a hand roughly over his face and picked up his glass, drowning the remains of the mocktail Lydia had made for him. He gave the drink a grimace, probably wanting actual alcohol, but as he was on call that wasn’t going to happen. 

Stiles looked at Derek who reached over and took his hand. They were both sending reassurance to each other through the claim which was somewhat amusing.

Sighing loudly, Stiles’ dad gave Melissa a small smile when she touched him on the arm in concern. He leveled a serious look at Stiles. “You both wanted this? It wasn’t something that was forced on either of you?”

“Yes we did, no it wasn’t,” Stiles replied, Derek nodding than shaking his head as Stiles spoke, backing him up.

“How long?”

“Couple of months,” Stiles said, looking at Derek again.

“Two?”

“Five,” Stiles admitted. “Give or take a little.”

His dad breathed in sharply, then let it out. “If everyone could give my son and I some space?”

The pack stood up and left out the front door, Scott grabbing Cue by an elbow when the boy tried to stay. Melissa and Chris went with them. Malia gave Stiles an understanding smile and a wink as she shut the door behind them all.

“Dad,” Stiles began, not sure how to fix things. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the whole wedding schtick.”

“We can still do that,” Derek offered. “As big or as small as you want.”

Stiles’ dad considered them for a long minute. Long enough to make Stiles squirm. “Married,” he finally said. “How did it happen?”

“You’re not mad?” Stiles was at a loss. “I kinda expected you to try to ground me.”

“If I did, would it work?”

Stiles snorted a laugh, and his dad cracked a wan smile. “It’s nice to hear you do that,” he said. “And that’s one of the reasons I’m not getting mad. Would I have preferred a little time to get used to the idea, a year or two of engagement? Maybe you waiting until you were older? Of course. But,” he shrugged, “our lives are not like others, and you deserve love in yours. I can’t be mad about that.”

Stiles stood up and walked around the table, leaning in and giving his dad a hug. Derek sent relief through the claim which Stiles wholeheartedly returned.

“There is one thing I want to know,” his dad said.

“What?”

“Did you wear white? Because you’re not all that innocent and I can’t imagine Derek in anything other than black.” There was a teasing glint in his dad’s eyes.

“He does colors now!” Stiles defended. “Besides, there wasn’t a ceremony or anything. He just bit me after we decided to do it.”

“He bit you??” His dad looked at Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles pulled down the neck of his t-shirt. “It’s an old fashioned way of showing the claim.”

“Like a tradition?”

“Yep.”

His dad examined the scar without touching. 

“It didn’t hurt,” Stiles added.

“Looks like it did.”

Stiles held a hand over it. “It’s not a normal bite.”

“Thank God.” His dad sent Derek a look over the table. “If you start taking chunks out of Stiles just for the hell of it, I will have a problem with that.”

Derek raised one eyebrow.

“I bit him too, just so you know,” Stiles said. “It was totally reciprocal.”

Derek nodded. “I love your son with all my heart.”

“That I don’t doubt for a second.” Stiles’ dad sighed once more. “Okay, then. If you do decide to go legal and human-wedding with it at any time, just give me a bit of warning so I can work out the finances.”

“You don’t have to do that, Noah. The Hale trust would pay for everything.”

“A trust?” Stiles’ dad gave Derek a considering glance. “In that case, sure, pay for everything, I won’t try to stop you.”

Stiles was about to try to derail the conversation before it got out of hand and his dad decided a wedding was in the immediate future, when Scott came back inside with Argent following him.

“Sorry guys, but I just got a weird text from someone I don’t know,” Scott advised them. “I think something’s wrong.”

“What’s the text say?” Derek asked.

Scott held up his phone and read out loud, “Tell S. Got word trouble coming. Going dark. Will contact soon with more info. H.”

“Tell S?” Stiles repeated. “Tell me?”

“Who’s H?” Cue asked, sticking his head in the door and then tumbling inside. “Wait, is it Hans, the wannabe Dwayne Johnson?”

It made the most sense to Stiles but it was strange, he hadn’t even thought about the guy since just before the Summation and now Hans was sending a heads-up text? 

Stiles looked to Derek, but he seemed just as confused as everyone else, except for Argent who seemed like he understood everything just fine.

“The rest of the text seems pretty self explanatory,” the ex-hunter said.

“Then care to explain it for us laymen?” Derek asked.

“Hans is going undercover for some reason, to help you it looks like.” Argent nodded at Stiles. “Obviously, whatever he’s doing requires it not to be known he’s connected to us.”

“Well that makes it clear as mud,” Cue pointed out. “What’s he doing? What’s the trouble that’s coming? Why did Stiles need to be warned? And who the hell is this guy anyway?!”

The rest of the pack had trickled back inside while Argent was explaining and everyone spent a moment digesting what Cue had just pointed out.

“I think I need to talk to some contacts of my own,” Argent finally said. “I’m not too sure where to start, but I’ll think of something.” He nodded to everyone and left.

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Cue asked.

“You? You go to school and get your grades up,” Stiles’ dad told him. He gave a stern look when it looked like Cue was going to protest. “We’ve handled stuff like this before,” he turned his look to the pack, “we’ll deal with it again. When we know more.”

Scott nodded. “All we can do is act normal. Keep doing what we do, but stay safe. Then we deal with what ever is coming.”

Stiles and Scott shared a tense look. Normal for them was not normal for others, but both Stiles’ dad and Scott were right; there’d be nothing much they could do until this new threat showed itself.

Derek came up and stood by Stiles’ side. “We’ve got this,” he said. “We’re a strong pack.” He rested a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“The strongest,” Stiles agreed. “We’ve got each other’s backs.” He reached up and gripped Derek’s hand.

“Always,” Scott added.

Malia, Lydia, Liam and Mason moved closer, nodding their heads and murmuring things along the same line.

“I think I’m going to throw up. No, I know I am,” Cue groused. When everyone gave him dark looks, he sat back down in his chair. “What? Seriously, the group feels is nauseating.” He affected a high pitched whiny voice and said, “I’m part of a super-powered pack, let me bask in my gloriousness with my fellow super-pack mates, because we got this, we’re so bad-ass!”

“Shut up, Cue,” Liam told him. “You’re just jealous because you’re not pack.”

“I am NOT jealous!”

Stiles eyed Cue, something about what Liam said sparking a thought he couldn’t quite reach. He let it go, knowing it would probably come to him later if he didn’t think on it too hard. Instead, he motioned towards Cue, including him with a smile. “He’s my pack, though, aren’t you? Mine, my dad’s and Derek’s.”

Cue’s face lit up like the Forth of July, then fell slightly. “Not if the fostering doesn’t go through.”

“It will,” Stiles encouraged. “Besides, family isn’t just about paperwork.”

***

After the dinner was cleaned up, the pack dispersed; with the younger members having school the next day and Lydia saying she was taking Malia shopping early, much to Malia’s horror. 

While Liam and Mason waited for Scott to give them a ride, Scott gave Stiles a hug at the door and grimaced, saying, “I need to find a job.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, realizing what the vet clinic burning down actually meant. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll find something.” Scott shrugged. “It’s only a tie-over anyway. I’ll be back working for Deaton as soon as he can re-open.”

“Isn’t that going to take a while?” Stiles didn’t want to burst Scott’s bubble but half the clinic was pretty much rubble where the fire had torn through. 

“The damage isn’t as bad as everyone thought,” Scott explained. “Give it a few months and Deaton says everything should be fixed.”

“That fast?”

“I guess so.”

With a fist bump to Stiles in farewell, Scott walked down the porch steps and trailed off through the forest, Liam and Mason going with him. Stiles was left by himself, his dad and Derek in the cabin discussing who-knew-what and Cue relegated to finishing the washing up. 

Stepping out the door, Stiles leant against the porch beam and surveyed the night sky. The clouds were growing thick and the wind was picking up. He shivered, but not from the cold.

A warm arm came around him and Derek leant his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “You did good,” he said, kissing Stiles’ ear.

“When?”

“With what you said to Cue and how you’re being towards Scott. You did good.”

Stiles smiled a little. “Yeah?” He turned around, Derek holding onto his hips while Stiles put his hands up to card his fingers through Derek’s hair. “You do pretty good yourself, putting up with me.”

“I do, don't I,” Derek agreed, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his soft smile coming out. 

Stiles chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Bit hard not to,” Derek replied. “I did chose the good guy, after all.”

“The good guy?” Stiles wasn’t sure about that.

“The best,” Derek said, leaning in slowly for a kiss.

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes, pressing closer to Derek and just allowing the moment to be. He ignored the storm that was building and relaxed into the kiss, feeling content and relatively happy.

***

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story so far. I really appreciate all the comments, kudos, art and interest you guys have shown this series. Knowing you're reading and enjoying keeps me writing.
> 
> Look out for the next in the series:  
> Nature and Nurture Three: To Have and To Hold.


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